The Debt To Be Repaid
by Lady Sikerra
Summary: Just because Barbossa's own debt has consumed his life doesn't mean he'll forget about the ones still owed him...
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I only own Scarlett and all her peoples, but everyone else belongs to the dudes and dudettes at Disney.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Prologue

Scarlett Sampson pushed herself to the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Her arms flailed about wildly, desperate as she was to find something to keep her afloat. She clung tightly to the belt around her waist with one hand, for it held her pistol and longsword. She coughed and spluttered as the waves pushed her under again, but she was bound and determined to swim back to one of the ships in her father's fleet.

Victor Sampson was a powerful pirate in this part of the Caribbean, and he commanded a large fleet, with his fourteen-year-old daughter as honorary first mate on his flagship, the Chelsea. Few other buccaneers dared to challenge his might, save one: Captain Hector Barbossa.

Now, it just so happens that Victor owed a considerable amount of money to his old friend Hector, as the elder pirate had given Victor a portion of a year's plunder to buy a ship of his own and generally get started in a line of piratical employ. That was a long while ago, when there was a Mrs. Sampson, Scarlett's mother. Chelsea Sampson had died six years ago, but Barbossa had not forgotten the debt to be repaid. Especially because he had accumulated a few of his own.

And now the two captains had met up once more, and Barbossa wanted what was due him. Victor had open fired on his annoyingly persistent friend, convincing himself that it was the only option open to him. Naturally Barbossa had returned fire, and the Black Pearl sank the Chelsea at a frighteningly fast rate. Then she went on to terrorize the rest of the Sampson fleet.

And that is how Scarlett found herself in her current position, clinging to a barrel of oranges that had happened to float past her. She coughed some more and watched her new hat drift away, until it was swallowed up by the massive waves that also threatened to separate her from her life support. She pressed her body against it and shut her eyes tight, attempting in vain to keep the stinging sea water out of them. "Help!" she called, small English voice choked with water and fear. "Help, please!"

She watched for another of her father's ships, the Cheshire or the Midnight, perhaps. Even the New World would suffice. But she hoped the most for the Cheshire, as the Cheshire carried Charles, the love of her life. Though he was fifteen years older than she, he had sincerely promised to marry her one day.

But there was no sign of the Cheshire or the Midnight, or even the New World. There was only the menacing silhouette of the Black Pearl, the accursed galleon that had managed to wipe out most of her father's fleet. She had thought the Chelsea would have put up more of a fight, just as her mother had, but the Pearl was too strong, just as the infection had been. She realized now, with some sadness, that neither of the Chelseas had ever really stood a chance.

She also realized, as the Pearl moved swiftly through the waves toward her small form, she didn't stand a chance, either.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I own all of the people I invent, but none of the people that I really want. Life's a beach, lol.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter One

But try as she might, Scarlett simply couldn't kick her legs fast enough to outrun the Pearl. And even if she could, where would she go? There was no island, no other ship in her line of vision; and on a day as clear as this, she could see for miles. Yet even though she knew she had no other choice, she continued to doggy paddle away from the ship.

Meanwhile, Captain Barbossa watched her pathetic attempt to escape as a sadistic smile spread across his blistered lips. He knew she couldn't get away, and he also knew that she knew it, too. It would just be a matter of waiting it out, and then he could throw down a rope to her and rescue her. And while his plan may have seemed outwardly heroic, his ideas about what to do with her afterwards were hardly as gallant.

But she was surprisingly resilient, and it wasn't until the Pearl had been cruising along for fifteen minutes that she finally gave up. She clung to her barrel for dear life as he yelled down to her, "Ahoy, there, missy! Be ye in need of assistance?" Jack, the monkey on his shoulder, screeched loudly.

Scarlett turned her head to face him, a group of soaking wet strands of red hair plastered to the right side of her face. Her right eye had always been her good eye, so she could barely make out the dark figure that stood at the edge of the equally dark ship. But that didn't matter, for she knew who it was: none other than Barbossa himself. So she replied, "Not from you, I don't!"

The ragged captain chuckled and turned to his crew, who knew at that moment that it was safe to share in a joke with their leader. Even Jack the monkey managed a humorous howl. But he stopped laughing just as suddenly as he had started, so the crew shut their mouths just as quickly as they could. "So what're ye planning to do, then?" Barbossa called down to the girl. "Good luck findin' another ship!"

"I'd rather drown!" she yelled.

"Now, now, dear girl," he told her, "yer father was me best friend. It would be an insult to 'is memory to let you die."

"I'd rather be with him than you!" she retorted.

He considered her words. This was not a stubborn girl afraid of getting her pride injured; this was a young woman aching for the father that she knew was dead. Unfortunately, it was all the more reason for him to fish her out of the ocean. So he nodded to Bo'Sun, who threw a length of rope over the side of the ship. While the muscular man still had a firm grip on one end of the rope, Barbossa said, "Grab hold of the rope, girl! This is the only chance yer going to get!"

The rope landed a mere two feet from Scarlett, practically next to her. She glanced from the rope to the captain of the Pearl to the rope again, and let out a sigh already heavy with regret. She let go of the barrel, watched it float away as she moved her arms to tread water, and then swam over to the rope. She took hold of it with both of her small hands, and then looked directly above her at the black galleon that had spelled doom for so many sailors, and that would undoubtedly continue to do so. But even with this in mind, she called, "I've got it!"

"Haul her up," Barbossa said softly, and Bo'Sun pulled on the rope. It coiled in a sloppy pile next to him, as the girl was dragged up the side of the ship. There was a nail that stuck out at an odd angle somewhere along the way, and it caught on her black breeches and tore a nice line in them that was roughly three inches long.

She let out a small groan of annoyance and then she finally emerged on deck, with Bo'Sun's hands on her small forearms. She slapped him away and said, "I'm perfectly capable of standing up on my own, thank you." He grunted at her and placed his hand on the small of her back, pushing her toward the captain.

Scarlett had expected many things of Captain Barbossa, mostly negative things, but she had not expected him to look as he did. Though she hated to admit it, there was something about him that entranced her almost immediately. He was not attractive, in any sense of the word, but there was something about his face that made him interesting to look at. Perhaps it was his eyes, which were narrow and suspicious and lifeless and unlike anything she had ever seen. They were not the usual tired eyes of a sailor; they were dead and phantom like.

While Scarlett studied Barbossa, so did Barbossa study Scarlett. She was tall for a woman, and he was sure she still had some growing to do. She had her father's blue eyes, but her mother's red hair. Her face was plain, with no cosmetics to speak of, but pretty. Her lips were rosebuds, her skin was tan from years under the sun, and her nose was oddly aquiline for a pirate. It bespoke of her blue-blooded mother.

She also kept her composure well. If she were any other young woman, she would be kicking and screaming and weeping. But she was truly Victor's daughter after all, for she simply folded her hands over her chest and put all of her minuscule weight on her right foot, asking, "What do you want with me?"

"I already told ye," he said. "It would be an insult to yer father's memory for me to let you drown."

"You killed my father," she spat. "You've no respect for his memory. Now tell me what you plan to do with me."

That sadistic smile of his returned, exposing a row of rotting teeth that made Scarlett wince. "Oh, I've got plenty of plans for ye," he told her. Then he approached her and placed a hand on her small shoulder, turning her around and then wrapping his arm around both of her shoulders, so that her right side was pressed against his left. He leaned down and whispered, his breath hot on her ear, "Why don't we go to my quarters and discuss them?" He stood up straight again and chuckled menacingly.

And as he pushed her along, her eyes were wide with fear.

* * *

Barbossa's quarters were far more...elaborate than Scarlett's father's had ever been. Victor, at the end of the day, had truly been a simple man; if he had a bed in which to sleep, all was right with the world. But Barbossa's quarters were large and intricate and superfluous, to a certain degree. They were also very dark, and the only hint of color that seemed to shine through came from a bowl of bright green apples that sat in the very middle of the table at which Scarlett presently found herself. 

She'd put her feet up and crossed her arms over her chest, to display a calm, cool demeanor that was in fact the exact opposite of what she was truly feeling. She made herself appear at home in this strange place when all she really wanted was to be with her father again. But such was life. She was more than prepared to make due with what had been given her.

Barbossa observed her outwardly calm countenance, perfectly aware of the fact that she was hiding her fear, though quite well. There was no twitching eye, no inconspicuously quivering lip; it was all very fluid, very practiced. This girl was good.

He reached across the table into the bowl of fruit, his hand brushing her boot. Then he offered it to her and said, "Apple?"

"I only like them when they're red," she told him. He leaned back in his chair and let out a small chuckle. But Scarlett saw nothing humorous about the situation, because she was all business. "What do you want with me?" she asked, for the third time in the past fifteen minutes.

"Ye don' really want to know," he told her.

"You said we would discuss it," she reminded him. "So I want to know everything; all the gory details and such."

He bit into the apple and watched her as he slowly chewed it. Still there was no flicker of fear, nothing to betray any nervousness beneath the calm, even though she must have known what was coming. A staunch and stoic person she was, even for such a young one. But then again, children were obliged to grow up so quickly these days.

He swallowed and stood up, handing the apple over to Jack. The monkey held it against his chest as he sat on his little perch. Barbossa walked over to Scarlett and grabbed her around the ankles, placing her feet gently on the floor. She did not uncross her arms, merely lifted one foot and gave him a swift kick between the legs.

Though the attack was not very painful, it was most assuredly a surprise, and it was just enough to make him lose his focus for a split second. So she dashed out of the chair and ran for the door, despite the fact that she never made it out of the room. He grabbed her by her ankles once more and sent her crashing to the floor, so that she fell flat on her face. She screamed as she tumbled down and scratched her cheek on a poorly-laid plank of wood. But she screamed again as he grabbed onto the hem of her overcoat and pulled her toward him.

"Yer mother named you well, missy," he remarked. "Yer as fiery as yer hair, aren't ye?"

"Go to hell!" she yelled.

He chuckled again, the chuckle that he only seemed to chuckle when there was something particularly ironic afoot. "I'm already there," he told her.

* * *

Sorry for the absolute shit ending, but it's almost three in the morning and I am not able to write anything else without totally passing out, lol. Also, I'm very sorry if Barbossa seems at all out of character. He's a cool dude, despite being incurably evil, so I'm very happy that I'm finally taking the time to write a story that's centered more on him than Jack. 'Cause dudes, Jack's my man and all, but other characters need love, too, lol. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Scarlett be mine, and none of ye scurvy sea dogs can 'ave 'er! Sorry, I'm such a nerd, lol.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Two

And so Scarlett had been thrown unceremoniously into the brig. Barbossa had instructed no one to come see her until dinnertime, and then it would be with a special surprise. She had a feeling that the surprise was not going to be to her liking, which is why she had spent all of her time attempting to find a way out. She had but one shot remaining in her pistol at the moment, and that was intended for Barbossa. She figured that after she shot him, she could discreetly raid the armory and collect some more ammunition.

But for now the problem would be escaping from this god forsaken cell.

Luckily, there was a light weight wooden bench that sat against one wall of the cell. She picked it up and rammed it against the lock, and had been doing so for nigh on two hours, taking small breaks in between, but to no avail. She was beginning to get tired and discouraged, and her sweat only added to the slickness of her skin. Her already damp clothes grew damper, so that they weighed her down and drained even more of her energy.

Finally she gave up, replacing the bench in its original spot as she collapsed onto the floor. She lay down on her back and stared bleakly at the ceiling, wondering if she should just user her pistol to blow the lock off and find another way to kill Barbossa. Then another thought occurred to her, and she pulled out the dagger that she kept on hand at all times. Barbossa had taken her sword before having a few members of his crew throw her in the brig, but he had been unable to detect her most prized family heirloom.

She removed the dagger from its secret pocket and slipped her right hand through the bars. She pressed her face against the bars as far as it would go, and then slipped the dagger into the lock. She then began to jostle it around wildly, using her preferred method of lock-picking. She continued to do this for another half hour, until the door to the brig opened up. She gasped and quickly put the dagger away, scrambling to sit down in her cell and look as though she hadn't been up to anything.

But instead of seeing Barbossa, as she'd half expected, she saw two pirates whose names she did not know. One of them was tall and slim and looked to have a false eye, and the other was fat and bald and generally unpleasant-looking. Between them, they held a gigantic wine red dress that looked as though it weighed about as much as the bench she sat on.

The grungy pirates approached her and the fat one spoke. "'Allo, poppet," he said, opening his mouth in a wide grin that revealed two rows of rotted teeth.

She stood up. "What are you planning to do with that dress?" she asked.

"We plan to put it on you," he informed her.

She threw back her head and laughed. "I don't wear dresses," she told them.

"Oh, you will," said the fat pirate. "'Cause if ye don't, ye'll be dining naked wif' the crew." The skinny pirate, who had yet to speak, giggled girlishly at the prospect.

Scarlett had known it, she'd just known that he would somehow present her with an ultimatum in which she truly only had one choice. Even still, she weighed her options. If she refused Barbossa's invitation and dined with the crew, she'd be sitting naked in front of a group of grungy, grunting pirates. If she put on the dress and had dinner with Barbossa, she had a chance of hiding her gun or dagger (or both) in the dress's many folds and managing to kill him. In the end, there really was only one option.

So she reached through the bars and took the dress from them, saying, "Inform your captain that he won't be dining alone tonight."

* * *

Some time later, after being given the opportunity to put on the horrid red dress, Scarlett was accompanied to Barbossa's cabin by the two pirates she had informally met earlier. She noticed that the one with the loose eyeball stared at her from the moment the pair of them came down to the brig to the moment the trio emerged on deck. She couldn't stand for it much longer. So she asked, "Is there something you find particularly interesting about my appearance...whatever your name is?" 

He averted his gaze, as if suddenly thinking himself unworthy of looking upon something so beautiful, and said, "I's just that...well, ye look so pretty in that dress an' all."

She almost smiled at him. It seemed to be a genuine compliment, in that he didn't say it in a way that was suggestive or the least bit lewd. But instead she simply said, "Thank you."

They continued on to Barbossa's quarters without another word, and the pair of them pushed her into the room just as silently as they had let her out of the cell. Before she had a chance to react, she heard a key turn and a lock click, and she knew that she was trapped. She struggled to open the door, to turn the handle, but all in vain. She kicked the door in frustration and instead resigned herself to exploration.

She found that his rooms had drastically changed since she had last been in them. When once everything was lifeless and devoid of all color, now there hung velvet drapery from the walls, and a bountiful feast had been laid out on a much larger table than the one she had previously seen. It smelled heavenly, but she chastised herself for relishing the scent. She was supposed to hate it here, not smile every time food was brought out.

The room was still dark, and there was no sign of Barbossa or his horrid little monkey. Candles had been lit and strategically placed on the table between certain dishes, but she was the only soul in the room. It was silent, save for the gentle rocking sound of the ship and the slight click as her boots echoed across the floor with each step she took.

Confident that she was the only one about, she searched for another way to escape. She found a set of double doors that most likely led up to the deck, but they were locked just as tightly as the back door through which she had entered. But there was also another door, tucked so far away in the corner of the room that one could hardly see it. Unlike the rest of them, this door was unlocked, and so Scarlett entered with the greatest apprehension.

However, what she found on the other side was by no means frightening or forbidden, but perhaps it was a place that she did not want to be. On the other side of the door was what appeared to be Barbossa's bedroom. It was, for the most part, plainly decorated; the only thing that truly stood out was the high quality four-poster bed that rested against the wall. There was also a table (complete with the requisite bowl of green apples), a small perch for Jack the monkey, an armoire that looked to be Spanish by design, and a writing desk and matching chair with a candlestick and other assorted miscellany piled on top of it.

"Ye'd best be getting' used to this room; ye'll be spendin' a lot of time in it."

The girl gasped and whirled around, drawing her gun in the process. Her height was just so that the gun came up to Barbossa's chest; it was almost perfectly aimed. She cocked it and informed him, "I think you will soon find that I do not much care for surprises."

He made no response, merely took the gun effortlessly out of her hand. "I'll be havin' that now, if ye don't mind," he said. He passed the gun up to Jack, who hopped from his master's shoulder onto the floor and then scurried over to his perch near the dining table.

She glared at him. "That was my father's gun!"

"I know; I gave it to him." He proceeded to grab her by the arm and drag her out of the room, shutting the door behind him. "We won't be goin' in there just yet," he told her, "so stay out." He escorted her to the table, seating her at one end and taking his own place at the opposite end. "I trust ye can feed yerself," he said, when she did not eat.

"Of course I can feed myself," she retorted, "but I don't want any of your food. It's undoubtedly poisoned."

He chuckled, but it was not his ironic chuckle. He began to fill his plate with only a few of the many delicacies laid out before him, occasionally tossing a grape up to Jack. "I wouldn't want to be killin' ye, missy," he said. "Yer far too pretty fer that."

"Then what exactly do you want with me?" she asked. Her voice displayed irritation, but there was no hint of it in her body language; she was cool and calm and collected, just as she had been before. "I could understand if you wanted to finish me off, to kill the last of the Sampsons, but what else could I be good for?"

He looked up at her then, a slight shimmer of disbelief scurrying across his eyes. Did she truly not know? Was she truly so naïve? When she had shown him such unusual cunning and courage, did she truly not know what her fate was to be?

Outwardly she may not have, but she had only just begun to realize in the very pit of her soul. Her eyes went wide then, and she did her best to stop her mouth falling open. Of all the tales she had heard of Hector Barbossa, never once had she gathered from any of them that he could in any possible way have sexual thoughts or feelings. But she could see now that she had been wrong, and all she could do now was try to run.

And that is precisely what she did.

* * *

And so we see the origins (hopefully, lol) of the infamous red dress ultimatum. But DUDE! This story is like...fun! I know, I'm nuts. The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone besides Scarlett.

A/N: As one of my readers was so kind as to point out to me, Barbossa can't actually feel anything, anyway. So what's the point of kidnapping Scarlett and doing naughty things with her? First, I would like to clarify the time in which this story is set. It's set about two and a half years after they find the gold, so they'd more than likely still be trying to regain some essence of human character. And Barbossa figures that if he tortures and basically rapes the pure, untouched daughter of his friend turned enemy, he'll be able to feel at least a smidgen of sadistic pleasure. There, I've put in my two cents. Everything else is open to interpretation.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Three

Scarlett threw herself against the main doors, hoping to break them down and run across the deck until she found some safe place to hide. She nearly dislocated her shoulder in her vain attempts to escape...until she realized that he wasn't pursuing her. Confused, she stood there, watching him watch her as he ate, and then she ran to the opposite end of the room. She attempted to break down the back door as well, but also to no avail. And still he did not move.

"Why won't you do something?" she demanded, sounding frustrated.

Instead of answering her question, he complimented her on her appearance. "Ye look mighty fine in that dress, missy," he said. The monkey screeched his agreement.

"I did not come here for flattery," she muttered. But she was scared. He could see the fear dancing across her cerulean eyes, engaged in a mystifying duel with the flame from the candles. Her breath came in brief, shallow pants, her chest rising and falling sharply with each gasping inhalation. It was magnificent.

And although she had her father's eyes, he saw very much of her mother in her face. Chelsea Larkin was born a governor's daughter, but soon traded propriety for piracy when her last name became Sampson, and much of this was reflected in the daughter she bore. Scarlett moved with all the grace and dignity of a high society woman, but the cunning and courage that she had inherited from her father were pure pirate. She was a splendid mix of two worlds that were so close together, and yet so drastically far apart.

In a sense, he had watched her grow from a distance, indirectly seen her mature into the woman she was now. After all, things had not truly grown sour between the two captains until Chelsea's death, when Victor became depressed and his daughter was the only thing in the whole world that could cheer him. Everything went down hill from there.

Which, in a sense, made having her here all the better. It was a way to get revenge, as it were, on Victor for his refusal to repay his debt. Now that Victor was out of the way, the poor girl was essentially hopeless; no matter how strong she may have appeared, in truth she was basically lost without her father's careful direction. It would be all too easy to manipulate her to his own sadistic and megalomaniac ends.

And that is exactly what he planned to do.

He stood silently and began to approach her, his heavy boots thumping against the floor with each step. She moved swiftly, darting into his room. She shut the door behind her, and he heard the clicking of a lock. But he only rolled his eyes and pulled out his key, and the lock clicked again in submission to its master.

And yet she continued to put up a fight, pushing all of her weight against the door to keep him from coming in. He pushed back, knowing that there was no chance that her slight form would be able to stand up to his imposing figure. But she was smart, and just managed to prop a chair against the door. For an extra measure of protection, she sat in it and crossed her arms over her chest.

However, he wasn't in the mood to play her games. So he violently kicked the door, upsetting the chair and spilling her onto the floor. The door swung slowly open, revealing a girl with red hair and a red dress on her stomach on the ground. He let out a deep, throaty chuckle and leaned down to pick her up. He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up over his shoulder. Of course she screamed and kicked him and banged her fists against his back, but he only dumped her on his bed.

She scrambled off the mattress just as quickly as she could and fled to the corner of the room, practically behind the armoire. She then proceeded to draw the dagger from the dress and charge at him, but he grabbed hold of her wrists, stopping her before she could stab him. He admired the blade for a few moments before saying, "Aye, I remember this."

"It'll be your last memory," she said, and fought back his grip just enough to plunge the dagger into his chest. He released her and stumbled back, feigning death, and for a moment she felt triumphant.

But then, just as he reached the wall, he smirked and pulled the knife from his body. He held it in his hands, turning it over once or twice, and said, "'Tis a fine family heirloom, missy. But alas, yer efforts are futile." He ran his index finger over one edge of the blade, gathering the blood. Then he approached Scarlett, who was frozen with fear and disbelief, and drew a crimson line from the base of her neck to the point where the dress created cleavage. He chuckled once more.

Scarlett finally blinked, and held a hand to the wet line on her chest. She raised two fingers to her face, only to find them covered in blood, and then looked back up to him. Her mouth opened, as if she would speak, but then her eyelids began to flutter, and she suddenly fell unconscious.

* * *

Some time later Scarlett blinked herself slowly awake, only to find herself bound to a post like a disobedient donkey. But there was something different about this post, for it was a bed post. She looked to her hands, which were tied together with a length of rope. That same rope was also wrapped around the bed post, with very little left to allow her to move about. She could barely sit up properly, much less get out of the bed. 

She also found that she could not breathe through her mouth, as there was an apple stuffed in it. The fruit was bound in her mouth with a length of wine red fabric that wrapped around her head and tied in the back. She narrowed her eyebrows suspiciously and kicked out, but her foot only hit another of the bed posts.

Luckily, there was no sign of Barbossa, so she felt free to attempt various methods of escape. First she studied the knot in the rope, quickly deciding that it would be fairly simple to undo. After all, she was a pirate; she had known every sort of sailor's knot there was since she was a little girl.

Another stroke of luck came in the fact that her hands were positioned in such a way that her fingers were free. So she felt around for a moment before freeing her hands as well. Once that was finished, she slid slightly down, so that she was flat on her back on the bed. But that didn't last, as just the thought of laying down in his bed disgusted her beyond reason. She quickly untied the sash around her head and spit out the apple. She noticed that it was red instead of green. Then she hurled it into the opposite corner of the room and stood up.

And then she spotted her dagger on the desk.

She walked over to pick it up, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what sat beside it. The desk had been cleared of everything, save for her dagger and...a large bowl full of apples. They were red, not green, and she was beginning to suspect that some strange pattern was emerging. She approached it and grabbed her dagger, only to drop it again when there came a terrible screeching noise from behind her.

She gasped and turned just in time to see Jack the monkey hop down from his perch and land on the floor. He ran past her and out of the door, which, oddly enough, did not appear to be locked. Intrigued, she lifted an eyebrow curiously and bent down to retrieve her dagger. She tucked it away in her dress again and made for the only path out of the room.

But as she tried to get out, the captain made his way in. The two pirates seemed to surprise each other, but Jack only screeched in an affirmation of what he had apparently communicated to his master. "Good evenin', missy," Barbossa said, grinning strangely. "How did ye sleep?"

And then Scarlett remembered everything that had caused her to faint. She remembered stabbing him, and how he hadn't died. She remembered the blood on her chest, and even looked down to see that it had smeared over most of the exposed skin inthat area. Then she looked back up at him. "You aren't dead," she said, sounding mildly breathless. She backed away, until she hit one of the bed posts. "You should be dead. Why aren't you dead?"

He chuckled his ironic chuckle and approached her. The monkey hopped off his shoulder as he wrapped one arm around her waist to keep her in her current position and placed his free hand on her stomach, allowing it to travel slowly upward. His palm caressed the covered curvature of her breasts and somehow found its way into her slight cleavage. His fingers danced around against her bare skin until he found what he was looking for. He smiled and pulled it out, revealing the hidden treasure to both of them.

At that point, their bodies were pressed so close together that she could feel his breath on her face as he spoke. He held the glinting trinket in front of her eyes, watching her follow it intently as he moved it back and forth. Then he drew it away and tucked it in his pocket, earning a glare from his young captive. "That be a long story, missy," he told her, referring to her earlier question.

"I've got the time," she replied. Curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.

He grinned his strange grin again and said, "Ye'd best sit down."

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett, but I'm working on a plan to somehow capture both Jack Sparrow and Barbossa and start my own harem of man slaves, lol.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Four

The gold had been a gift given to her father roughly around two years ago, as a sort of reminder that a friendship still existed between the two captains, if a tense and mildly-uncomfortable one. Victor had given it straight away to Scarlett, as the piece of Aztec treasure had held no interest for him. But his daughter had kept it as a good luck charm. Oddly enough, it worked fairly well, as shortly thereafter Charles had asked for Victor's permission to court the girl when she came of age.

She missed Charles terribly now, as she listened to Barbossa's tale of cursed gold and foolish greed. But she would not think of the past; it was best not to upset herself, especially in front of a man who she knew would use any weakness she displayed against her.

For instance, he had used her curiosity, which was a weakness in her situation, to get just a little bit closer to her. The only condition he set for telling her his tale was that she sit on his lap, and that is how she found herself cradled in the arms of a man who could have undoubtedly fathered her twice over. She had positioned herself sideways, so that he could wrap an arm around her waist to stop her falling off. His other arm was free to gesture dramatically at appropriate moments in the story.

So while she listened intently to every word he said, she wasn't truly listening at all. The mystery of the moment had completely captivated her; his oddly hypnotic voice and almost ethereal power of survival enchanted her more than anything ever had. And for some reason, at that moment in time, being so physically close to him did not bother her; she was rather enjoying it, actually.

And he could tell.

Barbossa could read her well, and he knew from her body language that she had relaxed. Her back was no longer tense and straight; it had curved just so and she was leaning into his hand. Her feet were also not so close together on the floor; her right foot was touching his left ever so slightly. To top it all off, her left hand had strayed from her lap to his leg. Everything about her posture and physical state suggested that she was perfectly at ease.

So there was no chance that he was going to miss this opportunity.

Of a sudden, he stopped speaking, and she was forced to blink away her surprise. When her vision had cleared, she saw him smiling at her strangely. She opened her mouth to speak, but he silenced her with a simple flick of the wrist. His free hand came up and stroked her cheek, seducing her back into submission. Her eyelids began to flutter, and that's when he truly went in for the kill. He grabbed her face and pulled her closer, pressing his lips against her sweet mouth.

Her sense of calm vanished in that moment, when her eyes flew open and she tried to protest. But he only intensified the kiss, moving his hand from her face to her stomach, determined to hold her there. She put her hands on his chest in an attempt to push herself away, but his grip was the stronger of the two. She even bit down on his tongue, which had somehow wriggled into her mouth, but to no avail.

Finally, however, he released her, and she ran just as quickly as her legs could carry her. Granted, she did not run very far, only over to his bed. She leaned on the bed post and proceeded to have a coughing fit in order to more or less hack up the taste of his mouth. But this turned out to be an unwise decision, as he came up behind her and grabbed her, turning her around and pinning her against the post. He pressed his body against hers and took hold of her hands, raising them over her head.

He attempted to kiss her, but she turned her head away and simultaneously kicked him between the legs. He released her, as she had caught him off guard, thus giving her a chance to escape. She dashed out of his bedroom and into the room with the large table, but once again found that the other doors were locked. She tried once again unsuccessfully to break them down, but still she had no luck.

After a time, Scarlett collapsed onto the floor, weeping as she held herself. Barbossa emerged from his bedroom then, to find the girl in a pathetic pile on the floor. At that moment he saw the child that still lived in her heart, the lost and confused little girl that was still searching for a father whom she knew to be dead. He almost pitied her, but he quickly remembered that he had taken all of this into account when he had formulated his plan.

But she was just a little girl. And she was crying so hard that she couldn't even stand up on her own. So he sighed and walked over to her, bending down to take her in his arms. "No more," he told her quietly, as she wrapped her arms around him. "Not tonight." It turned out that she was a mite heavier than she looked, so he stumbled slightly as he made his way back into his bedroom.

He set her down on his bed, pulling her boots off of her feet and setting them on the desk next to the apples. He watched her curl up and clutch at his pillow for support, as her tears glinted in the soft candlelight. But she must have been very tired, because she silently cried herself to sleep within five or so minutes.

He stayed in the room for some time longer, watching her stir somewhat in her fitful sleep. Jack the monkey approached and hopped up on his master's shoulder. Barbossa gave the small creature a pat on the head and sighed again. "I know," he said. "I'm gettin' soft." He stood up then, and walked out of the room. He would find some other place to sleep tonight.

* * *

Scarlett woke in the morning, just as the sun was cresting the horizon, after an exceptionally poor night's sleep. She could not remember what had happened the previous night, but knew only that she was extremely depressed, more depressed than she had been when her mother had died. Perhaps it was because she had lost both parents now, as well as any semblance of her former life... 

But she shook the sad thought from her head as she sat up and got out of bed. She saw her boots on the desk next to a bowl of red apples, and an image flashed before her eyes of being gagged with an apple. She closed her eyes against it and banished it from her mind, choosing to bypass her boots and grab an apple instead. Then she bit into it and made her way out of the room.

There was no sign of Barbossa in the anteroom, nor his disgusting little monkey. She tried the back door, but it was locked, as could only be expected. However, when she tried the main doors, she found that they were open. But this didn't stop her from being hesitant; unlocked doors seemed to be a rarity on the Black Pearl, and so she was naturally distrustful of them when they were.

And yet curiosity was a powerful thing, driving her to set aside the apple,open the doors and emerge on deck. Though the sun was rising, the light was still dim, and the moon had not yet disappeared. It was hidden behind the slight clouds for the most part, but it unveiled itself once or twice. The deck was practically bare, save for a few men who didn't look like they were yet awake. One of them was the pirate with the loose eye, but his pudgy companion was not with him. He was leaning on the edge of the ship, staring out at the horizon. This simple stance was enough to bring a smile to her lips, so she approached him and leaned next to him.

"I always had trouble deciding what my favorite time of the day was," she told him, though she wasn't expecting him to be prepared for her to speak. "It is either that brief moment before the sun rises or the darkest part of midnight."

The pirate gasped and turned to look at her. "M-Miss Scarlett," he said, surprised. "I wasn' expectin' to see ye there."

"I have a way with silence," she said.

"Ye look awful pretty in that dress," he remarked, but his tanned cheeks were as red as her hair. He scratched the back of his neck, as a sort of nervous gesture to occupy his hand. He said nothing for a moment, but he knew that she was waiting for him to speak, and so he eventually did. "I 'eard a bit of a ruckus in the Captain's quarter's last night. 'E didn't 'urt ye, did 'e?"

"You're very sweet to think of my well-being," she said, smiling, "but I'm feeling quite well, thank you."

"Tha's good to 'ear," he said. Once again all was quiet, and this time he did not break the silence. In fact, he leaned closer to her, as if to kiss her...

And suddenly there came a sharp reprieve from somewhere in the distance. "Ragetti!" said Barbossa's stern voice, causing Scarlett and Ragetti to look in the direction of the helm. And there stood the Captain, standing firmly at the steering wheel. Apparently he frightened poor Ragetti so that his wooden eye popped right out of his head. He made an odd little noise and bent down to retrieve it, giving Scarlett the perfect opportunity to slip away and go speak to the Captain.

"He's a sweet lad," she said to Barbossa. "You oughtn't be so cruel to him. He was only trying to make me feel welcome, which is more than you've done."

He smiled wryly at her, and Jack only screeched. But Barbossa had an answer for everything. "It's his own fault, missy," he said. "He knows that he's not to touch that which does not belong to him."

She narrowed her eyes angrily at him. "So you regard me as your property?" she asked him. "I am nothing more than an object to be played with? Is that it?"

"No," he said. "Ye were me partner for a fleetin' moment last night. But when ye aren't willin', I have to claim ye as mine...lest ye be tempted to stray from fidelity."

"Fidelity?" she almost screamed. "I cannot be unfaithful when I am not bound to you in any way. I was already betrothed when you destroyed my father's fleet, and even if my lover is dead, I intend to stay true to his memory, if nothing else!" She stomped her bare foot and turned away from him, crossing her arms over her chest and breathing heavily until she calmed down.

"But ye enjoyed it, didn't ye?" he said. "Ye were breathless with excitement. Admit it."

She said nothing, but she bit her lip in indecision. She had to admit, the sensation of being so close to a man who clearly wanted her body was exciting in its own way. Not only that, but there was such an air of danger about Barbossa that it only heightened the excitement. And the feel of his hand on her bare breast... She turned her head and rested her chin on her shoulder, to keep an eye on him as she spoke. "No man has ever touched me like that before," she reluctantly admitted.

He smiled and gestured to a crew member who was standing not fifteen feet away. He shooed the monkey off his shoulder as he allowed someone else to take the wheel, choosing instead to approach Scarlett. He wrapped his arms around her waist and leaned in, whispering in her ear, "I could do it again." His hands moved to her chest, and he pulled her closer to him, practically massaging her breasts through her dress.

She gasped in spite of herself and gritted her teeth, telling him, "I positively abhor you."

He chuckled and bit down gently on her earlobe. And then he said, "I'll make ready the apples."

* * *

I really like this story. I think it's allowing me to explore the sexy side of Barbossa that's buried deep down underneath that rough and tough exterior. Oh, and I think I've figured out why the Captain likes his apples oh so much. Apparently, green apples release the body's testosterone, thus enhancing the sex drive. I swear, I screamed when I found this out. Fun fact, eh? The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and her people, but no one else.

A/N: I would just like to clarify that the interesting little tidbit I shared with you all about apples is perfectly true. If you look on the Internet long enough, you'll find something.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Five

"What exactly are you going to do to me?" Scarlett's question was not asked in anxiety or apprehension, but out of genuine curiosity. Barbossa had her under his strange spell, at least for the moment, and both of them seemed determined to make the most of it. She held her hair up as he stood behind her and unlaced her dress.

"Now, now, missy," he said, "you wouldn't want me to ruin the surprise, would ye?" He finished unlacing the dress and began to slip it down her shoulders. "Just be patient," he told her, and the dress fell down until it stopped to rest around her hips. He smiled and placed his hands on the sleeves of the dress, giving it the extra push it needed to fall to the floor.

And then she stood before him in all her nude glory. A perfectly formed body; narrow shoulders, a straight back, hips just wide enough, and dainty little feet. She would be his final salvation; if he could not enjoy destroying the virginity of an innocent girl, then there was no hope for him. He would have to live with the disability to feel anything until the curse was lifted if he could not feel her purity shattering now.

She held herself now, and seemed suddenly afraid. "I have never before been so bare in front of a man," she told him. "I feel...unclean."

"That's not unusual," he assured her, putting his hands on her shoulders. He guided her over to the bed and said, "Lay down on your back."

She did as she was told, lowering herself onto the bed and laying down in a perfectly relaxed state. "What now?" she asked.

"Patience be a virtue," he reminded her, grinning in his way. He removed his large hat, overcoat, and boots before walking over to the desk and collecting the bowl of apples. This time, however, there were a few green ones mixed in with the red. He brought the bowl over to the bed, stopping only to bend down and retrieve something that had apparently fallen onto the floor. Then he came onto the bed, and began to scoot toward her on his stomach.

It was then that she realized what must have been on the floor. "My dagger," she said. Fright almost got the better of her. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Fear not, missy," he said, picking an apple out of the bowl. "This knife will cut apples, not flesh." Then, as if to prove his point, he took the dagger and cut a small hole in the red apple, no greater than a pinprick. He scooted even closer to her, and held the apple a foot over her stomach, allowing its juice to flow from the small puncture and drip down onto her skin.

This continued for some time, using apples of both colors, and allowing the juice to land in different areas of her chest and stomach. Finally, when the bowl was perhaps half empty, he set it and the dagger aside and scooted even closer to her, so that he was practically on top of her. He put one hand on her cheek, stroking her crimson hair out of her face, and slowly slid his hand down until it came to her right breast. She may have been a woman in all other respects, but her bosom had yet to fully develop. Her breast was so small that he could cup it in his hand, and he played with her nipple for a moment before moving on to his main objective.

He could feel places on her skin where the juice from the apple had soaked in and made it sticky, and those were the places on which he wanted to concentrate. He leaned in and began to gently kiss her stomach, sucking at the areas that had been soaked in apple juice. He could feel how her muscles tightened and relaxed at the same time, as if she was unsure if she should enjoy it or be disgusted by it.

And then there were her hands. Her hands kept moving toward him, as if to grab at his collar, but they never quite made it. After a time he decided to simply grab one of her hands himself, if only to keep it occupied. But that still left the other hand free, and as he moved up her body, toward her breasts, it became more of a problem.

Having cleaned her stomach of any offending apple juice, his focal point soon shifted to her bosom. He scooted even closer to her, so that their bodies were nearly side by side. With one hand still holding hers, he held the other to her chest, so that he could feel the pounding of her heart and the rapid pace of her breath. And for once, he could not read the emotion; be it fear or arousal, he did not know.

But he continued anyway, moving his hand away and instead replacing it with his mouth. He softly kissed his way down to her right nipple. He took it into his mouth and bit down on it slightly, causing her to gasp and reach out for him. She clutched his shoulder tightly, so much so that her nails were digging into his skin. He grinned and moved away, allowing her a moment of rest before he repeated his previous actions with her left nipple.

In a short while, he sensed her movement, and he could see that she was clenching her legs shut, as if to stop something happening. He moved his lips away from her skin; in fact, he moved his entire body away from hers. He sat upright and watched her a moment, practically writhing in reluctant pleasure, and knew that he had done enough for a day.

So once she had calmed down, and her eyes were no longer so tightly shut, he said, "That be all fer today, missy." He climbed off the bed and replaced the bowl of apples on the desk. Then he slipped on his overcoat, stepped into his shoes, and placed his large hat atop his head. He then stood by the door, and made to go out, but he tipped his hat to her before leaving.

And he left an utterly breathless Scarlett behind him.

* * *

After she had calmed down, and the sun was higher in the sky, Scarlett dressed herself and made her way into the anteroom. Once again the back door was locked, but the main doors remained open. She emerged on deck, this time to find far more members of the crew out and about. It was bustling with activity, and there was Barbossa, steering his ship with a look of pride on his face. Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgment, and so she decided to take the direct approach and approach him directly. 

She had to push and shove her way through the crowd, but the crew was obliging for the most part, and she felt a strange rush of power knowing that heads would roll if people displeased her. She was determined not to let it get to her own head, and she was also determined not to let Barbossa seduce her with the power that she knew was not as real as it appeared. She would still escape the Pearl and find Charles and get married and settle down and have half a dozen children with the man of her dreams. It was a lovely fantasy, and someday she would make it a reality.

But in the meantime, she would have to pretend that she was completely under Barbossa's thumb. It was what he wanted, and if she gave him that which he most desired, he would be obliged to do the same. Not to say that some of the things she said weren't genuine, and not to say that he didn't have a real talent in the bedroom... She shook her head and plastered a smile on her face as she came up to him.

"I must admit, Captain," she said, leaning on the ship's wheel, "you've got quite a talent."

"That was only a taste," he told her. "The real fun begins in a few days' time."

"What's going to happen in a few days' time?" she asked.

"Ye'll see, missy," he said, turning the ship's wheel so that she stumbled slightly. "Just wait and ye'll see."

* * *

The next few days passed fairly quietly, with the occurrence of no notable events. Scarlett did not speak to Barbossa often, but each night she slept in his bed. Sometimes he would wrap an arm around her waist and pull her closer to him, and occasionally he would stroke her hair, but mostly he kept his hands to himself. It made her wonder what he had in store for her. 

But one night she sneaked out of his bed, out of his room. She lit a candle and went out on deck, only to find that someone else's lamp was already burning. She extinguished her candle and silently made her way over to the unknown light source, swiftly deciding that it was Ragetti who held the lantern. She came up on his left side and said, "Boo."

Ragetti let out a girlish shriek and nearly dropped his lantern. "Miss Scarlett," he said. "I nearly died of fright. Ye've got to stop sneakin' up on a man like tha'."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's in my blood. It's strange, though," she went on, relighting her candle using the flame from his lantern, "how our paths keep crossing. I think it's something to do with our ages. You can't be that much older than I am. How old are you, Ragetti?"

He looked surprised, as if he hadn't been expecting her to remember his name. But then embarrassment quickly took over, and he mumbled, "Oh, I don' know. I never really did, I suppose. 'Ow old are you?"

"Fourteen," she told him.

"You're just a young un' then," he said. "The captain's got no business sullyin' one so pure as you." He was silent then, as if something had just dawned on him. "I know what 'e wants wif' you," Ragetti said.

"What?" Scarlett asked.

Ragetti put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, holding the lantern above her head so that it illuminated what lay ahead of the ship. There was a small island that contained a large cave, undoubtedly bursting with treasure. "Tha's where we're 'eaded," he told her. "The Isla del Meurte."

* * *

Does Barbossa seem out of character to anyone? I'm just nervous that I'm making him too much of a lover. Oh, and if you haven't yet, you simply must see Dead Man's Chest. It is absolutely incredible! The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: Scarlett's mine, but I don't yet have enough money to bribe Disney into giving me legal rights to the characters of POTC, lol.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Six

"Wake up, you worthless bastard." Scarlett jabbed Barbossa roughly in the shoulder as she sat next to him on the bed. It may still have been dark, but the moon was covered by clouds, and so he should have had no reason to be worried. But perhaps he was just tired... No, that was too simple an answer. "Wake up," she said again, poking him harder this time. "Dear God, you're so lazy." She sighed; apparently insulting someone was no longer proper motivation to cause them to wake. So she rolled her eyes and moved off of the bed.

But she was right; being tired was too simple an answer. For she quickly found out that he wasn't asleep, merely pretending to be. He grabbed her arm just as she made to stand up, swiftly pulling her back to him. He then chuckled and rolled over, pinning her underneath him. He basked in the glorious look of utter shock on her face for just a moment before leaning down and violently claiming her lips. He smiled into her mouth as she beat her small palms against his chest, but to no avail. Then he finally pulled away and said, "Good evenin', missy."

"I knew you weren't asleep," she told him. "It would have been far too simple. Now remove yourself so that I may stand." He obliged her, rolling away again and allowing her to finally move away from the bed. As he put on his shoes, she brushed off her dress and asked, "What is the Isla del Muerte?"

He did not respond for a moment, as if uncertain of how to answer her question. Then he said, "It means the Isle of Death."

"I know the translation," she informed him. "I mean what is it?"

"It is our destination," he said, slipping his arms through the sleeves of his overcoat. He stood up and grabbed his hat, giving Jack the monkey a quick pat on the head. He then made to leave the room.

"You're quite good at avoiding questions," she said, following him out of the room. "You know that, don't you?" When he made no response, she continued by saying, "Good. What I'd like to know is why the hell we're stopping at a place called the Isle of Death." He paused in front of the main doors, as if uncertain about whether or not he should go out on deck, and she nearly bumped into him. "It's quite cloudy out," she assured him. "The moon's not visible."

He turned around to face her, a questioning look in his lifeless eyes. "Ye went out already?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I woke at midnight," she explained, "and I found it difficult to drift off to sleep again. So I went out on deck and had a little chat with Ragetti." She smirked at the slight emotion that crossed his face.

But her self-satisfied smile didn't last long, as he roughly grabbed her wrist and practically dragged her onto the deck. However, he was kind enough to release her when he went up to the helm and gave orders to the few crew members who stood about. She took this time as an opportunity to rub her sore wrist, which had begun to bleed. She stared at it in disgust; he had cut her flesh with his filthy nails. She wiped it away on her dress, but she knew it would only bleed more.

Barbossa came back to her swiftly enough, and noticed with just as much frightening swiftness the slit in her wrist. He chuckled softly at the wound, causing Scarlett to notice that it had indeed begun to bleed again, and then lifted her wrist to his mouth. He sucked the blood slowly out, while she only stared at him with an odd mix of disgust and curiosity in her eyes. When he was finished, he relinquished his grip on her small wrist. She quickly wiped it once again on her dress and said to him, "You would frighten me if I didn't know you couldn't feel anything."

He made no response to her comment, only flashed her a grin that somehow managed to unnerve her greatly. He stood some distance away from her now, and turned his back on her, so that he could not see her stick up her middle finger. Instead he watched a few of his crew ready a single rowboat, with naught but two oars. It was something of a bad omen to Scarlett, for it suggested that naught but two passengers would be going ashore. And she had a fair idea of just who those passengers were...

* * *

Scarlett leaned over the edge of the rowboat, allowing her fingers to penetrate the surface of the water. They made miniature waves as the boat traveled along in slow, almost jerky motions. Barbossa rowed silently, and Jack the monkey sat between his two human companions. The little creature played distractedly with the hem of the girl's dress, and she attempted to kick him away. But he was far too quick for her, scurrying back to his master's shoulder. She scowled at him for only a moment, but quickly turned her attention back to the ocean. 

He rowed them silently into the passageway of the cave, wherein there lay gold and jewels and various other treasures all scattered on the floor of the shallow waterway. They sparkled madly, illuminated by the light of the lantern the captain had brought with him. His young captive reached down and grabbed a few gold coins, lifting her hand out of the water and scrupulously scrutinizing them, as if testing their true value. She bit down on each of them in turn, and then finally seemed to decide that they were real.

He grinned at her. "That not be even the half of it, missy," he told her. "There be plenty more where that came from." Shortly thereafter, he moored the rowboat on a smooth stretch of rock and set the oars down in the boat. The monkey jumped down from his shoulder and scurried into the main area of the cave, while Barbossa waited behind to escort Scarlett onto land. He offered her his hand, but she refused it, stepping out of the boat without any assistance, just as he'd known she would.

Still, he put a hand on the small of her back to guide her into the large, open area where all the treasure was stored, and so he was there to catch her when she stumbled backward in almost shock. She held a hand to her chest, to calm her pounding heart, as she took in the sight that lay before her. Just about every inch of the cave was occupied by gold or silver or precious gems. Goblets and golden idols and heavy necklaces were strewn carelessly about, piled on top of one another in dangerous stacks of finery.

"Dear God," she said. "It's beautiful."

"Go on, then," he said, gesturing with his hand. "Take yer pick."

She turned around to face him, a question in her eyes. "You mean...?" He nodded, grinning at her. She gasped in delight and hugged him excitedly, standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. She then ran off, giggling like a mad woman, and left him to lift his hand to his cheek. A part of him was mildly amazed; it was the first kiss she had willingly given him.

* * *

Some time later, Barbossa sat on a mound of gold and studied the piece of Aztec gold, turning it over and over in his hand. He passed it up to Jack, who was scratching at his ear in impatience. The beast then hopped down from his shoulder and scurried over to the chest, placing the coin on the lid of the chest. And then he scampered away, undoubtedly off to explore some secret part of the cave that only he knew about. 

Satisfied that Jack wouldn't cause any trouble, the captain turned his attention to Scarlett, who was putting on quite an amusing little display. She had found a particularly large pile of gold coins, and she appeared to be rolling around in it in a joyful sort of nervous breakdown. She held her arms over her head, and then she rolled back and forth, finally ending up on her back. Then she began to move her arms up and down and open and close her legs, and she laughed softly. But it was mad laughter, and his suspicions of a nervous breakdown were confirmed.

He stood up and approached her, standing over her as she moved her limbs about. After a time, her pace slowed, and finally she ceased to move altogether. He stared down at her, watching as she calmed down and took stock of the situation. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Get up," he told her, and offered her his hand once more. This time, however, she accepted it, and he pulled her up. Still holding her with one hand, he used the other to point to the accursed chest. "There be the chest," he said.

"The chest that holds the Aztec gold?" she asked.

"Aye," he affirmed. She made no response, merely broke free of his grasp and approached the chest. She walked around it once, as if inspecting its lid, then grabbed the coin and tucked it into her dress before kicking the chest open. The lid flew off, sending a rush of stale air flying at her face as she stared down at the gold in wonder. Her mouth opened wide and her eyes grew large, and she reached out a hand to grab a single piece of the glittering treasure. And then...

"Scarlett!"

She turned her head to look at him, confusion on her face. This was the first time, to her recollection, that he had called her by her name instead of just "missy." But the shock of hearing him utter her name was nothing when compared with the sight that next met her eyes.

* * *

I would just like to give thanks to all my wonderful reviewers; you guys have all been incredibly supportive of me with this story, and I absolutely can't thank you enough. You rock! The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own anybody except Scarlett, blah, blah, blah, you know the drill.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Seven

Not many things scared Scarlett, but the sight of a skeletal Captain Barbossa was almost too much for her to bear. She swayed dangerously as she nearly fainted, and she ended up stumbling backward. It didn't take much for her to lose her footing, and so she fell down onto her back, floating between consciousness and unconsciousness. She opened her mouth in an attempt to speak, but coughed violently instead. The shock of seeing Barbossa's ghastly, moonlit form had almost made her want to vomit, but she had done a fairly good job of suppressing the urge thus far.

She was vaguely aware of some sound to her left, and as her vision refocused itself, she turned her head slightly and saw large boots stop beside her face. She felt hands grip her around the waist, and then experienced the sensation that someone was lifting her up. She leaned heavily against the human wall that Barbossa provided, practically hugging him if only to keep her balance.

He reached into her dress again, groped about blindly for the coin, and pulled it out after a moment. He then reached into the chest, grabbed the knife, and took hold of her hand. He drew the blade across her palm and pressed the coin against it, illiciting a small noise of pain, but nothing more. He dropped the knife and the coin back into the chest, and released her for a single moment as he replaced the heavy stone lid. "Now ye understand why I couldn't let ye take a coin," he said.

She nodded feebly. "Please take me back to the ship," she managed to whisper.

He nodded and released her again, whistling for Jack. The little beast emerged from some hidden location and scurried over to his master, hopping onto Barbossa's shoulder. The Captain began to walk away from Scarlett and out of the cave, but when he was unaware of her soft footfalls behind him, he stopped and turned, only to find her still standing atop the mound of gold next to the chest. "Aren't ye comin'?" he called back to her.

She looked toward him then, and she said to him, "I...I can't walk."

He sighed and turned around, shooing the monkey off of his shoulder. The creature made a small noise of displeasure, but hopped down anyway and ran off to the rowboat. Meanwhile, Barbossa took Scarlett in his arms and carried her out of the cave. And as she grabbed some part of his overcoat, snuggling into the empty sort of warmth he provided, she didn't mind the closeness.

* * *

For the next week or so, Scarlett spent most of her time in the brig. It was the only place where she felt that she was a sufficient distance from the Pearl's crew and what she knew they could become. She would hold herself and look longingly at the stairs, but she knew she would be too frightened to actually go up on deck. 

During this period of isolation, she rarely ate but did a great deal of sleeping. Every other day, Barbossa would ask someone to go down and check on her, just to be sure she was still breathing, and always they would find her curled up against some wall or other. But they dared not touch her, for fear of invoking the Captain's wrath.

And then one night, Scarlett got the sudden urge to escape the claustrophobic and less than pleasant atmosphere that pervaded the brig and emerge up on deck. So that is what she did. Fortunately, there were very few pirates about, save for one at the helm and a few scattered in random locations around the ship. She passed right by them, refusing to cast her eyes upon them, and made her way swiftly to Barbossa's quarters.

As she pulled back the double doors and let herself in, she realized that she was compelled to be very near and very far to and from him at once. She was repulsed and attracted, uninterested and curious, desperate to forget and yet dying to know more. A battle raged within her, and that devilish side of her personality was winning thus far. It had forced her to go this distance, and it seemed almost wrong to let her efforts go to waste.

She crept silently through his fanciful anteroom until she came to his bedroom door, which she found to be unlocked. She turned the knob quietly, so as not to alert him to her presence, and entered his room, shutting the door behind her. The first thing she noticed was his little monkey, sleeping at an odd angle on his post with his tail curled around him. In the darkness he almost looked adorable. Almost.

And then she saw him, laying on his bed, fully-clothed, save for his overcoat, boots, large hat, and a various assortment of belts and sashes, chest gently rising and falling. She saw that he had placed his hat on his desk, and so she picked it up and placed atop her own head. She then walked over to his armoire and opened it up, finding very little inside, as she'd half-expected. But there was a mirror built into the back of it, and so she smiled at her reflection, laughing slightly. She ran her index finger and thumb along the brim of the hat, and blew the feather out of the way as it dipped down in front of her eyes. It was a handsome hat, she'd give him that. A handsome hat for a handsome man...

She removed the hat and threw it onto the floor, kicking it across the room. No, she wanted nothing to do with the pretty piece of clothing if it would twist her private thoughts. What would Charles think if he knew what was going on in her mind? God, how she missed Charles. She wondered if he was even still alive. If he wasn't, she wondered what the point would be in continuing to live. Charles was the only thing she had left, and if she could never look upon his sweet face again...

She wandered over to the windows, placing her hand sadly on one of the panes and pressing her face against it. "What's happened to us, Father?" she asked the sky, voice a whisper. "Life was going so well. Everyone was healthy, the crew loved you...we had our own fleet, Father. Where did it all go wrong? What did we do to deserve this?" All was silent, and she had known that no answer would come, but still she banged her fist angrily against the glass.

This was her mistake.

The pounding noise woke Jack, and so the little beast screeched in alarm. This caused Scarlett to scream slightly in surprise, and these two noises combined were enough to wake Barbossa. He wasted no time in pulling out a pistol, cocking it, and pulling the trigger. The poorly-aimed bullet flew into the armoire, shattering the mirror inside it. This caused Scarlett to scream some more, but this time she got down on her hands and knees and crawled across the floor until she reached the shelter of the desk.

Barbossa got out of bed and lit a candle, picking up some other weapon as he patrolled the room. She watched his feet walk slowly across the floor, and she gasped as the monkey flashed briefly before her eyes. She saw the Captain bend down and retrieve his hat, and she was fairly certain that he brushed it off before setting it on the desk just above her head. Then he began to speak in a quiet, dangerous voice that sent shivers down her spine. "I know yer in here, ye yellow-bellied coward. Now show yerself!"

She bit her lip, watching his feet move, and seeing the monkey jump down from somewhere, undoubtedly his perch on his master's shoulder. The small creature screeched at her, making a face that was certainly intended to be frightening. It made her grimace, but she still attempted to kick him away. She pushed him away from the desk with her foot, but this was her undoing. For as soon as her foot emerged from under the desk, Barbossa grabbed her around the ankle and pulled her out. Needless to say, she did not go quietly, attempting to kick him as he held her.

Clearly, it was not what he had been expecting. For once, he had nothing witty to say to her; he merely stared at her with a slight look of puzzlement on his weathered face. But he recovered himself quickly, and grinned his grin at her. "So ye finally couldn't take it anymore?" he said. "Yer curiosity finally got the better of ye, did it?" He chuckled. "I knew it would."

"I hate you," she said to him. "I don't know what keeps drawing me back to you, as it certainly isn't lust. You're old and filthy and rather pungent, and you killed my father. If I had my way, I would shoot you and steal your ship, but as I can't do that, I just put up with you and your perverted ideas."

"And yet ye keep coming back," he pointed out, grinning again. He pulled her closer to him, putting his free hand on her other ankle. Her breath caught in her throat as she wanted for his next move, and sure enough he made another amorous advance. His hands slid slowly up her legs, pushing her dress up as he went.

But it was too much for her, and she kicked him away. She stood just as quickly as she could, and ran for the door. She pulled it back and ran out of the room, turning to give him a brief message. "I will not be your whore," she told him, breath heavy with a mix of rage and arousal. Then she slammed the door behind her and ran back down to the brig.

He did not bother her again.

* * *

The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I can, of course, claim no ownership to Barbossa or any other characters from POTC, but Scarlett is mine. And I intend to keep it that way, thank you very much.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Eight

Scarlett ran back down to the brig and into the first cell she could, slamming the door behind her. She hid in a corner and watched the door swing slowly open, as there was nothing to secure it in place. She leaned back swiftly, hitting her head against the wooden wall. She took hold of great clumps of her hair and attempted to pull it out, hissing at herself in frustration. "Stop it, just stop it!" she told herself. "Think of Charles, think of Father, think of anything but him."

But it was no use; every thought in her head led back to Barbossa somehow. Barbossa had attacked their fleet, possibly killing Charles and certainly killing her father. Even memories of her early childhood were filled with reminders of the pirate captain; sitting on his knee as a little girl when her family happened to come across him at some port or other, smiling brightly when he allowed her to try on his hat, playing with Jack the monkey while she waited for news from the physicians with her father and Hector, receiving the coin that garnered Charles' promise of marriage. Why did everything return to him?

Finally she broke down and cried, throwing herself against the floor with tears in her eyes. She didn't want any of this to be happening, and if she could go back and rewrite history, she would make him forget about the useless debt her father owed him. But she could not alter the past; no matter how greatly it pained her, she was trapped in the miserable present.

But perhaps, she thought to herself, sitting up and drying her eyes, the present did not have to be so miserable. She thought back to what her father had always told her, to try to make the best of a bad situation, that there was always some good in it if one looked hard enough. It would be difficult, as there seemed to be very little good in the situation to begin with, but then she remembered that at least she was still alive. She had new clothes and she was being fed, if only sparingly. Perhaps it wasn't so bad after all.

And it was with this thought in mind that she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, as the Caribbean sun poured through the small window in the brig, it illuminated a small part of Scarlett's left cheek. She was too deep in sleep to notice the warmth, but Captain Barbossa saw the flash of pale light as it danced across her flesh. He stood just on the other side of the door, not daring to enter the sanctum of her cell. Jack, however, had other ideas, and so he scurried through the door and over to the sleeping girl, crawling under her skirts. "Jack," Barbossa said, in a reprimanding tone, and the monkey crawled out again, looking mildly disappointed. The Captain only chuckled. 

Suddenly she stirred, but did not wake, merely shifted in her sleep. He saw so much of her mother in that simple movement. Scarlett was very much like her mother, even if she had inherited all of her father's spunk and spirit. But it was truly in her hair, he supposed; Chelsea's hair had been that exact shade of red, but it had looked more beautiful against her porcelain skin that it did against Scarlett's tanned complexion. But it was beautiful nevertheless.

There were so many things he wanted to do to her, so many things he wanted to do with her, that he had never been able to do with her mother. But it seemed that both Chelsea and Scarlett were destined to have their hearts stolen by brunettes with blue eyes; Victor had looked that way, and so did Charles, if memory served him. He had seen Charles once; he was a handsome lad who could have had any woman he wanted, but of course he chose to chase the redhead.

And part of him couldn't blame Charles. Scarlett was certainly a fine thing, but not a woman to be taken lightly. She had already proved herself to be more trouble than she was probably worth, but she amused him, which was why he kept her around. That and the fact that she was still virginal, and she therefore made enticing prey. He could honestly say that he had never felt more alive than he did when he was around her, when he engaged in their complicated little mind games whose consequences were as yet unforeseen.

Though he wasn't sure why he was so remarkably kind to her...well, kind when one considered how he acted toward his crew. He was a man, and a pirate at that; he could take her any time he desired. Perhaps he felt guilty about killing her father and tearing her life away from her. Perhaps he had a penchant for delayed gratification. Perhaps it wasn't really about his carnal desires, but her sexual awakening. For some reason, he liked the idea of opening her eyes to an entirely new world of pain and pleasure, give and take. Whatever the reason, he enjoyed keeping her on her toes, always waiting for his next move. Not that she hadn't surprised him once or twice...but in truth, that really only made it more interesting.

A small smile crossed his lips, and he chuckled as he gave Jack a pat on the head. He spared her one last glance before exiting the brig, set on what he would show her next.

* * *

Scarlett woke some time later, and began to contemplate whether or not she should go up on deck. She had exhausted what few resources were available to her for entertainment, and she was getting rather hungry. Finally she decided to take a chance and go out among them; after all, it was day time, so she was in no danger of seeing any of them in their skeletal forms. 

And there was Barbossa, standing once more at the ship's wheel. His monkey, however, was for once not on his shoulder, nor near him at all; the little beast chose instead to climb and play in the rigging. Part of her hoped it would lose its balance and fall off into the ocean, but for some reason that seemed highly unlikely to happen, so she continued to walk toward the Captain, banishing all thoughts of homicide.

He didn't seem to notice her at first, but she knew better than to believe that he would let her slip by without a word. When he did finally decide to look upon her, he grinned his grin and nodded slightly, saying, "Good day, missy. I trust ye slept well?"

"As well as one can on the floor of a cell," she replied.

"Well, now that yer awake, what can I do for ye?"

"I'm hungry."

The grin increased in size as he reached into one of his pockets. He pulled an item out, revealing it to be a bright green apple. "Apple?" he offered.

Scarlett glanced at the thing in disgust, but accepted it anyway. Then she mumbled, "You and your bloody apples," and made to throw the thing off the ship.

But Barbossa acted quickly, grabbing hold of her wrist before she could toss it. With one hand on the ship's wheel and the other on her, he said, "Waste not." He chuckled at her as she struggled to free herself. He released her after a moment, and she ran to the edge of the ship, determined to rid herself and him of just this one apple. But he wouldn't allow it, rushing over to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the edge the moment before she could hurl it into the sea. "Why do ye behave so badly?" he asked her, whispering the question in her ear. "I don't treat ye bad, do I?"

And this is where she realized her mistake. In many ways, he hadn't treated her badly at all; in fact, he'd been unusually hospitable. True, there had been one occasion where he'd tied her up and gagged her with an apple, but other than that he had proved to be a fairly charming host. Fortunately for both of them, he could read her well, and so he knew when to leave her be. But he didn't force her to do anything, he kept her well-fed, and he had even given her a new dress. In many respects, he was right to call her on her bad behavior. And she felt a fool for not seeing it earlier.

She stopped struggling, knowing that it would be futile anyway. She relaxed her body slightly and relinquished her grip on the apple, allowing it to fall to the wooden floor of the deck. "No," she answered.

"I've been quite hospitable, haven't I?" His hand moved from her wrist down to her waist, pressing her body against his as he gently bit down on her earlobe.

"Yes."

"Then I say it's about time ye return the favor." He released her unexpectedly, and she almost stumbled backward, as he'd clearly surprised her. "Run along to my cabin. I'll be joinin' ye in a few minutes."

* * *

Ooh, tonight it's a double header! I'm uploading this chapter and Chapter Nine of The Ties That Bind, my Star Fox story. If any of you are interested, I suggest you check it out (shameless self promotion, yeah!). The blood is the life, Sikerra. 


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and all the other people that Disney doesn't want. I'll take Barbossa and Jack Sparrow when you're done with them, Disney people! But I'll be nice and let Julie have Fishface and barnacled Bootstrap Bill. I prefer my men living, thank you. Though Davy Jones does have a certain appeal...maybe squishy would be a good word for it, lol. (Glomps Julie.)

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Nine

Barbossa seemed to be taking his time, though he did send his little monkey in to keep her company while she waited. It did nothing; merely sat on its perch and attempted to groom itself, while she explored his cabin in greater detail. His armoire was a particular area of interest, and so she pulled back the doors to take a peek inside.

As she'd been half-expecting, the glass from the broken mirror had not yet been cleaned up, and she doubted if it ever would. So the reflection that stared back at her was just as marred and broken as the glass reflecting it. But the shattered mirror aside, she focused her attention on the clothing that practically hung in her face.

The first piece she noticed was a dark green overcoat, and judging by the feel of it, it was most likely velvet. "Fine bit of cloth for a pirate," she muttered, but pushed it aside and continued to look through his clothes. She next came upon a fine shirt made of silk, and another of the same material with lace cuffs. But the rest of his clothing she found to be considerably...feminine.

There were no less than three dresses in his rather empty armoire, and the first she saw was mostly blue, with the terrible misfortune of having two large and garish yellow bows sewn in at symmetrical intervals on the skirt, with three smaller and less offensive bows of the same color sewn in a straight line down the stomacher. The sleeves were blue and full length, but lined with yellow, as was the neck.

The second gown that caught her attention was a simple green one, with very little intricate embroidery and an overall more basic design than the blue dress. It had no bows, yellow and garish or otherwise, and the sleeves began slightly off the shoulder.

The third dress did not seem to be a dress at all, but rather a man's shirt tailored for a woman's figure. Beside it were a pair of black breeches with a sizable rip in one of the legs, and beside that was a fine red jacket that looked to be about her size... It didn't take her very long to figure out that the clothes were hers, and she backed away in something that was almost but not quite surprise.

Unfortunately, she backed away directly into Barbossa, who surprised her some more by placing his hands on her shoulders, albeit gently. "Dear God," she said, breath already heavy, "you frightened the life out of me."

He did not respond immediately, rather smiled at her and looked past her to the open armoire. "So ye've been doin' some searchin', have ye?" He walked past her and pushed the doors of the armoire open wide, and a few pieces of broken glass fell onto the floor. He muttered something to himself, but said nothing aloud to her.

"You don't wear any of those dresses, do you?" she asked.

He laughed, truly laughed, not just his usual chuckle. "No," he told her, closing the armoire. "But ye will; it's just a matter of time." He turned back to her, but said nothing, as if considering his next move. He had also considered the fact that in terms of her sexual experience, she was not very far advanced, so there were few things he could ask her to do for him that she would know how to do. He, on the other hand, was a far more experienced lover, and there were plenty of things he could do to her body that would make her feel good. He resolved to take from her pleasure a sense of his own, a sense that he would feel satisfied because he had satisfied her. It was a noble goal, to be sure, but if he were to speak in realistic terms...well, he couldn't feel anything, anyway, so he may as well just give all the pleasure to her.

Barbossa pulled the chair away from his desk and sat down on it, then motioned for her to come to him. She hesitated a moment, as if uncertain, but finally approached him and lowered herself onto his knee. He put one arm around her waist and the other under her knees, lifting the lower half of her body onto his lap, so that she was forced to lean into him more than she currently was. This way, in order for her arm not to be squashed uncomfortably against his chest, she had to put it on his shoulder or lay it on her stomach. She chose to lay it on her stomach, as he'd known she would; she may have been willingly sitting on his lap, but she was not yet relaxed enough to be intimate, as it were.

Jack, of his own volition, hopped down from his perch and jumped up to sit on Scarlett's stomach. He played with her hands a moment, grabbing her large fingers with his little ones, and acted in a generally well-behaved manner. "I remember the first time I saw him," she suddenly said. "Mother's fever had just spiked, and Father called in the physicians. You had agreed to stop by the inn earlier that day, but something came up and you couldn't visit us until that evening. You brought Jack with you then, and I don't think I'd have been able to stand the waiting if he hadn't distracted me." The monkey hopped away again, sensing that his work was done.

Barbossa remembered that day all too well, with a frightening amount of clarity. But he most of all remembered a dead mother and a sad little girl who held the body and wept, while her depressed and angry father wandered the streets until dawn. He remembered falling asleep in one of the armchairs in the inn's foyer, and waking up unexpectedly with a little child still snoring on his chest. She had always been a slight thing, thin and tall. So much like her mother...

He moved his hand out from underneath her knees, resting it instead on top of them, and playing distractedly with some of the fabric of the skirt. He was waiting for her to make the first move; he had guided her into it last time, but now he wanted her to be the one to take charge.

And take charge she did, for she suddenly kissed him hard on the lips. Her tongue was unskilled, and did not advance very far before retreating, but he helped her along by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her closer, as well as inserting his own tongue. She put her hands on his chest, as if to push herself away, but instead she grabbed handfuls of his overcoat and pulled him closer, releasing a small noise of surprise at her own boldness. But she did not stop...

And yet he did. He pulled his mouth away from hers and stared her in the eyes; now would be the time to discern whether she would play the part of lover or fighter. Her breath was heavy, and he took a moment to watch her chest rapidly rise and fall, before deciding that all signs pointed to her readiness. She wanted him, and he knew it.

So he took her in his arms and rose from his seat, walking across the room and laying her down gently on the bed. He removed his overcoat, throwing it carelessly over the chair, and stepped out of his boots. He slowly took off his hat, then handed it to Scarlett, who sat up and placed it atop her own head. He nodded at her in approval; it suited her well, almost better than it suited him. The way it cast a shadow over one half of her pretty little face... But he focused his attention once more on her body as a whole, for if he did not take advantage of this serendipitous situation, he knew that it may not arise again for some time.

Barbossa did not speak, but he pulled her closer to him, slipping the dress down her shoulders. He paused to admire the beauty of that particular part of her anatomy; her shoulders were broad and evenly-tanned, and the skin on them was very smooth. He then continued to undress her, pulling the gown open in the front and allowing it to fall away, leaving her only in the plain cotton chemise that she wore underneath it. He pulled the dress out from under her and tossed it across the room, so that it landed on top of his overcoat. But the chemise would remain on her body until she saw fit to undress him. He did her the favor of removing his belts, but that was all. He wanted to make it clear that the rest was up to her, that she had more control over the events now than she did previously.

Though at first she didn't look as though she knew how to go about it. He understood her nervousness in part, so he guided her hands to the yellow sash at his waist. She untied it and held in front of her face, then suddenly wrapped it around her head and tied it again at the back , so that it covered her eyes. "I don't want to see things," she explained, "I just want to feel them." Her hands moved slowly upwards until her fingers found the buttons of his vest, and so she began at the very top and worked her way down, until the garment was loose. She stood on her knees and groped about blindly until she found his shoulders, and then she pushed the vest off of him, hearing it fall to the floor with the dull thud of heavy fabric.

Before her hands could do any more work, however, he grabbed her wrists and held her in her current position. Standing as she was now, she was almost as tall as he was. He looked her up and down, but his attention came to rest on her face, where it always seemed to stop. There was so much in her face that harked back to the aristocratic look that was evident in every one of Chelsea's features, but especially in her lips...those were Chelsea's lips through and through, with no trace of Victor's hard mouth. So when he kissed her, he could pretend it was Chelsea's mouth he was claiming with his own...

Chelsea's mouth was opening and closing, as though it was trying to make noise. It pushed itself nearer to his face, touching and gently biting his lips. It ran its tongue over his teeth, then carefully poked around inside his mouth. The girl, the woman that was not Chelsea, pressed her lips against his and let her tongue roam free. He did not try to stop it, but he did release her hands. She fell forward slightly, so that she was made to catch herself by putting her hands on his shoulders. She pulled her lips away as she ran her fingers along the fabric of his shirt, and then decided that she wanted to remove it. She surmised that it was tucked into his trousers, so she slid her hands down his body until she felt the fabric change. And when she pulled up, she could hear the shirt sliding silkily off his skin, and she knew his chest was bare when she felt flesh beneath her palms.

"Your skin is smooth here," she remarked, as she slid her hands slowly over his chest and abdomen. "But on your face..." Her hands moved up to his cheeks. "The skin is worn and weathered. You've a very weathered face. It makes you look...not elderly, but wise. I'm sure you could teach your crew very many things about sailing and piracy if you would give them half a chance." She stroked his right cheek with her thumb. "Will you teach me things?" she asked.

He could not, of course, read her eyes, but her mouth was an entirely different matter. It did not curl into a smile like a harlot playing the innocent coquette, nor was it even an innocent question. Her mouth was closed, though not tightly, and he could swear that beneath the sash her eyes were turned up at him in curiosity and expectancy. She knew what she was doing, what she was getting herself into, and she showed no fear. She genuinely wanted to learn, genuinely wanted him to teach her, to be her tutor.

And so he removed her hand from his cheek, instead bringing to his lips and kissing it softly. "Very many things," he told her.

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Oh, the suspense! lol More smutty, erotic, whatever you want to call it goodness in the next chapter, I promise. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra.


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own...anyone. Except Scarlett. She is the only one I can claim as my own.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Ten

"What will you teach me first?" Scarlett asked, pushing away from him slightly as she fell backward onto the bed. It was a decidedly playful gesture, and he knew then that he had misjudged her; so she did think it was something of a game. However, he said nothing to her, merely reached around to the back of her head and untied his sash. It fell silently onto the bed. She turned an almost angry glare on him. "Why did you do that? I told you I just wanted to feel things."

He shook his head. "Ye'll have to see things if ye want to learn." She seemed to understand immediately, and so she tossed the sash aside as she nodded mutely. He sat down on the bed beside her, placing a hand on her chin to tilt her head up.

They stared into one another's eyes for a moment. "Your eyes," she said, "they were the first things I noticed about you. When I was younger, I remember them as a shade of blue that always reminded me of the ocean. They also seemed to change color depending on your mood, which I found incredibly enchanting. But seeing you when you first took me aboard... Your eyes are dead. They're just as dead as the rest of you, aren't they? That's why they're no longer that beautiful blue." They continued to stare at one another, each considering the other's body, and then Scarlett kissed him. It was not a tentative peck, but indeed a full-blown kiss, unskilled tongue and all. She let it all go, holding nothing back.

He returned the kiss in full, soothing her tongue into submission with his own. He took hold of her arms at the elbows, pulling her closer, while she draped her arms around his neck. They sat a while in that position, while poor little Jack the monkey scratched at the door to be let out. When no one paid him any mind, he scurried under his master's desk to avoid witnessing the scene that he was sure would unfold before him.

They finally pulled away from one another, but they did not move or speak. She rested her head on his chest and he continued to hold her arms. He was vaguely aware of her head shifting position, and he thought he saw her hand move down to his chest. "It would all be so much easier if you could feel things," he heard her whisper. She ran her hand down the length of his arm, but he only knew because he saw a flash of tanned, supple flesh pass by his elbow. Her delicate palm ended up pressed against his, a highly sentimental gesture that she rarely repeated.

"I don't know what to do next," she whispered after a moment. "I've never...I have no experience...I don't know what to do."

"What do ye want to do?" he asked her.

She was silent a moment, as if considering her answer. "I want to...to...feel you. I want you to touch me. And I want to touch you in return."

He ran his fingers through her hair. She was a sweet girl, if truth be told. She was an incarnation of Chelsea, which was, he supposed, the main reason he was so kind to her. If he could capture her heart, which he had failed to do with her mother, or at least her affection, he would want for nothing more than to feel the warmth of her body pressed against his. "Where do ye want me to touch you?"

"Everywhere. Any skin that can be caressed, caress it. Any mound of tender flesh that can be kissed, kiss it. It would help me to not feel so...lonely." That was it, the word that sealed the deal. He knew then that she did not come to him because she truly wanted him, but because she was compelled by loneliness. She sought warmth and comfort, and... She was still speaking. "And I want to do the same to you." She offered no explanation as to why.

Her loneliness, however, did not seem to subtract from her willingness to learn. She would still be an attentive pupil, he imagined, so he kissed her and lowered her onto the bed. He watched his hat get pressed between the back of her head and his pillow, so he removed it and tossed it gently onto the floor. She smiled at him, another rare gesture. He lay on his stomach beside her and trailed his hand from her hip to her ankle and back up again, snaring the chemise in his long fingers on the return trip. He pulled it up to her stomach and let it rest there for a time, repositioning himself so that he was facing her soft, pink opening.

He had cleaned his nails and his mouth not too long ago; the matter of personal hygiene was what had delayed him. He did it for her benefit, so that if he happened to cut her with his nails or his teeth, the wound would not become infected and end up killing her in a few months' time. He slid his hands up her legs again, this time starting at her knees, and spread her thighs apart. He examined her lower lips, running the tips of his fingers up and down the tender flaps of flesh, and he saw the muscles in her legs tense. "Stay calm," he told her, and she seemed to do her best to try to relax.

He continued to stroke some very sensitive areas for a time, then slowly eased the tips of two fingers into her. She let out a delicious gasp, but remembered what he had told her and attempted to remain calm. He moved his fingers around for a moment, judging how his ministrations were being received by the gasps Scarlett emitted. If he listened hard enough, he could pick out which part of her slight noises were pain and which parts were pleasure. It was in this way that he used his ears to assist her climax, which was accompanied by a less than quiet moan. He smiled and withdrew his fingers from inside her, which he then inserted into his own mouth and proceeded to lick clean. Even if he couldn't taste her juices, it was still nice to know that they were there.

He repositioned himself again, so that he lay next to her on his stomach, as he'd done previously. He waited a moment, until she'd stopped panting, and then turned his head to look at her. "Did ye like that?" he asked her, a small smile on his lips.

"It was...strange," she said at last. "But quite nice." She sat up. "Now what can I do for you? Tell me, teach me; what do men like? Where do they like to be touched?"

With a little more experience, he knew that she could prove to be a very kind, generous and enjoyable lover. But experience was the key word here, so he sat up beside her and unfastened his trousers. He did not remove them completely, just enough so that his member was exposed. He was almost embarrassed to look at it; the mere sight of her exposed quim should have aroused him quite a bit more than it had, but it wasn't surprising, really. Being able to feel her and taste her would have helped him greatly, but that simply wasn't an option that was open to him. He was forced to make due with what was given him.

He shot her a sideways glance; she was blushing slightly, so she must have already known something about this particular part of the male anatomy. She may not have known what to do with it, but that would all change soon enough. "Go on," he said softly, when she just continued to stare at it. "Don't be afraid to touch it."

She bit her lip in consideration, an unbearably adorable gesture, and then scooted closer to him, so that their hips were touching. She reached out to touch it with one hand, gently fingering the head and dancing her fingers across the shaft. She heard him make a low noise in the back of his throat, something that could only be described as guttural and almost wild, like an animal.

Though she did not know it, she employed a tactic similar to the one he had used to stimulate her, judging her own performance by the noises he made, or the lack thereof. She deduced quickly that even though he could feel nothing, it perhaps had to be not so much a physical sensation but a matter of seeing her hand at work that would truly arouse him. For this reason, she made her movements slow yet intense, applying greater pressure in certain areas and less in others, until he pushed her hand away.

She was a swift learner, he'd give her that. He was impressed with the speed with which she had formed a technique, and he had a feeling she was unintentionally employing the same tactic he had, using sounds as a guide. He watched her sit beside him on the bed, having pulled her knees up against her chest, looking slightly discouraged. He realized that she thought she'd done something wrong, poor thing. To assuage her fears, he put a hand on her shoulder and pulled down slightly on the sleeve of the chemise, letting her know that she had made no mistake and that he would be more than willing to continue.

He removed the chemise quickly, eager to preserve the hardened state of his member, exposing her delicate body. Surprisingly, her stomach appeared just as tan as the rest of her body, which made him question just how much of her her father's crew had ever caught a glimpse of. An image suddenly came into his mind of Scarlett running nude across the deck of her father's ship in the middle of the day, with her arms out and flailing about like a bird flapping its wings, and her petite breasts bouncing up and down slightly. It was not an entirely unwelcome visual, but it turned into one as Victor's shocked expression came into play. He didn't want to think of Victor, not now, not when Scarlett was almost within his grasp.

He allowed her to remove his trousers, slyly giving himself another opportunity to be touched by her, which she realized and took full advantage of. She tossed his trousers aside, so that they landed on the edge of the bed and slipped off to pool in a pile of heavy fabric on the floor. Her chemise was not far behind; he pushed it onto the floor with the tip of his toe, so that it lay sprawled across his trousers.

Her legs were still bent at the knees, but they were farther away from her chest now; she leaned back and supported herself with her hands, so that a triangle was formed by the space between the mattress and the insides of her knees. She had closed her legs again, though not tightly, and seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. But he had already made it perfectly clear that she was in control this time, and that he would only guide her along if all other resources seemed exhausted.

She caught on quickly, nodding slightly to herself and scooting closer to him once again, this time kissing him on the lips and draping one of her legs over his. She moved her body closer still, pressing her chest against his as she deepened the kiss. He would have to teach her what to do with her tongue, but her command of the thick muscle was by no means atrocious. She used her teeth now as well, biting down on his lower lip and continuing to hold onto it as she pulled away slightly. She finally released it, and he watched her eyes dart around nervously, as if seeking his approval.

He gave it by cupping one of her small breasts in one hand, sliding the other down the small of her back, simultaneously pushing her closer, so that he could nuzzle his face into her slight cleavage if he so desired. But being in such a position, her nipples were nearly level with his mouth, so he took one of them between his teeth and bit down softly. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her body toward him. "Oh, please be careful," she said quietly. "But...don't stop."

He didn't stop, nor had he planned on doing so. After a time he began to alternate between nipples, sucking and nibbling first on the right and then on the left. Once he slipped into a comfortable rhythm, Scarlett felt comfortable deviating slightly from it, telling him to bite harder or to linger for a greater period of time on either breast. There was an occasion when he bit down especially hard on her left nipple, and she bucked against him. At that point, his member, he was happy to report, was quite stiff.

It was so stiff, in fact, that it pressed against her opening as she recovered from the sudden sensation of pleasure he had caused by biting down roughly on her nipple. She gasped again, letting out a slight moan shortly thereafter. "I can't take it anymore," she whispered, voice breathless. "I want you inside of me."

And of course, he was more than willing to oblige.

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Now, just in case you're wondering, I'm not going to let the scene end in such an unexciting manner. I just figured this would be a good place to stop because it's too late at night for me to go on and I'm too tired to think of anything else tonight. Plus, I just love to leave you guys in suspense like this, lol. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: Scarlett and other such people are mine, everybody else is one of Disney's many bastard children, lol.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Eleven

Scarlett made to climb atop him, but he quickly flipped her over and pressed her against the bed, claiming her lips once more as he positioned himself above her. "Virgins are never on top," he told her, once he pulled his mouth away from hers. He guided her arms to his neck, so that she clasped her hands at the base of his neck while simultaneously gripping his waist with her legs. And she said she'd never done this before...

He leaned into her chest, grasping his member with one hand and holding it over her opening. He told her to prepare herself for the pain, and for a moment she didn't look as though she understood. But it became clear when he gently pushed inside her, eliciting a small gasp from her parted lips. She pushed her body against his, nearly crushing his chest with the intensity of her embrace, and he slid his hands up her back until his fingertips came to rest on her shoulder blades.

At first his thrusts were gentle, with no rhythm to speak of; he would linger inside her for a moment, watching her chest rise and fall as her heart beat faster and her breath came in short, huffing little pants. Then he would pull out, but only slightly, so that he wasn't so deeply embedded in her. This pattern continued for a time, each thrust earning him a slight moan or groan or sigh or gasp of pleasure.

He tried to read her eyes, but they remained closed for a great amount of the time. Her mouth was the most expressive feature on her face during this period; he could sense what she felt judging by the state of her lips. If they were parted she was feeling pleasure, if they were sealed she was experiencing pain.

After a time she spoke, requesting that he thrust into her faster or harder, and she began to kiss and bite him fervently as their bodies slowly fell into sync with one another, so that her hips ground against his with each thrust. The bed began to rock, and both of them could hear the headboard hitting the wall, and see the curtains on the posters shake, and notice the blanket that fell to the floor. But they didn't stop, or they couldn't stop, or they wouldn't stop, and there was a moment when Barbossa feared that one of his crew members would arrive to investigate the noise.

But no one did, and so they were both able to climax in peace. And he believed that he truly did climax, for what felt like the first time in a long time, for he had never seemed so physically exhausted. He practically collapsed on top of her, too tired to even remove his member from her soft quim, and he could see her shuddering with the last echoes of pleasure beneath him. Neither of them spoke, but she slowly wrapped her arms around him once more, embracing him tightly, as if afraid to let him go and risk losing him when he had given her something so special. A part of him wanted to hold her in return, and yet another part of him couldn't bring himself to do so. He just trapped her beneath him, and did not release her until she had fallen into a silent sleep.

Even then she was reluctant to relinquish her grip, so that he had to remove each arm carefully and set it down on the bed gently. He took the blanket from the floor and used it to cover her naked body, at which point he glimpsed the blood that had leaked from her. He was momentarily shocked; he had almost forgotten that this was an unfortunate side effect of the deflorization process, the bleeding. But he remembered himself quickly, and proceeded to drape the chemise and dress over the chair at his desk.

He put on his clothes, and it wasn't until he'd buttoned up his vest that she stirred slightly in her sleep. He looked over at her, to be sure that she wouldn't wake, and when he was assured of her unconscious state, he continued to dress himself. He finally placed his hat atop his head and opened the door to his bedroom, only to be greeted by Jack the monkey, who seemed mildly hesitant to jump up on his master's shoulder, as if the small primate somehow knew what Barbossa had done.

But it passed quickly, and Barbossa stroked Jack's face with his finger as he steeled himself to face his crew.

* * *

Relations between the Captain and his captive were even more strained and strange than they had been previously when she emerged from his cabin that evening. They would stand together for a time, saying nothing, and sometimes she would tentatively touch him, reach out a hand to hold his or lean her head on his arm. And sometimes, quite suddenly, she would let out a noise of anguish and kick him or slap him and then storm off. He would merely continue to stand where he was and take the abuse; he understood what a myriad of thoughts must be rushing through her mind, and in her delicate state he did not wish to disturb her. 

But others saw fit to intervene, namely Ragetti, who had been unofficially watching over her since the day she'd arrived. He hadn't trusted Barbossa to be alone with the girl, and judging by her actions, his suspicions had been entirely correct. During one of her angry moments, he took her aside and attempted to calm her down, saying, "All righ', wha's wrong?"

"I hate him," she said to Ragetti. "I hate him with all my heart." He opened his mouth to say something in reply, but she surprised him by continuing to speak. "And yet part of me can't stand to be away from him for more than a moment." As if to illustrate her point, she stared longingly back at Barbossa, who had shifted position slightly since she'd last run off, but refused to look in her direction.

Ragetti, though lacking in any formal education, was not an unintelligent man, especially when it came to matters of the heart. He saw the way she looked at Barbossa, with all the emotions known to humanity dancing in her eyes, and knew that she was too far gone to be saved. He sighed, resigning himself to her fate. "Ye went ta bed wif' 'im, didn' ye?" he asked her.

She turned an almost venomous glare on him, distracted from her beloved Captain by the insolence of one of his crew. "I don't know how you came by that information," she said, her tone of voice carrying in it a slight warning, "but if I hear mention of it again, I will personally slice your balls off while you sleep."

The threat was a serious one, and this girl, who seemed at least five heads shorter than he, could not have had a more serious expression on her face, and their was no doubt in his mind that she was willingly neuter any one of them. So he swallowed nervously and nodded solemnly, saying in a frightened tone of voice, "Yes, Miss Scarlett."

There was a moment when the expression on her face was triumphant and satisfied, but the next moment panic seemed to dominate her face. "Oh, good lord, what have I done?" she said. "Ragetti, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I'm just so..." She sighed, seemingly unable to find the proper words.

"Confused?" he offered.

"Exactly. I don't know what I'm feeling. I want to be near him one moment, then I want to push him off the edge of the ship the next. I think of Charles and feel ashamed, and then I remind myself that I don't know if he's even still alive and I feel so elated again. I'm angry at myself for enjoying what he did to me, I'm angry at him for doing it in the first place, and then I wish with all my heart that he would do it again. I don't know what I'm supposed to think or feel or do or anything."

He shrugged. "I's no' really a ma'er of supposed to," he told her. "Jus' listen to yer 'ear'." He gently patted her chest, careful to not come in contact with her breast. "I's go' good advice for ye, if ye listen to i'." He smiled warmly at her.

She returned his smile in full, with just a hint of gratefulness tugging at the corner of her lips. "Thank you, Ragetti." And then she suddenly embraced him.

However, she chose the worst possible moment to do this, for just as he wrapped his arms around her to return the embrace, Barbossa turned around to face them. There was a moment when Ragetti locked eyes with his Captain, but he did not look away or release Scarlett from his grasp. For the first time since he'd signed on as part of the Black Pearl's crew, he did not fear Barbossa's intense gaze; he had won Scarlett's friendship, and though the young girl may have not realized it, she had Hector Barbossa wrapped around her finger. Whatever she wanted, he would do it for her, without question or protest. Ragetti knew that he was untouchable.

Barbossa seemed to sense it as well, but it did not stop him from trying to intimidate his supposed competition as much as possible. He came up to them and stood directly behind Scarlett, so that he could stare Ragetti in the eyes. But the scrawny pirate still did not back down, even when Jack the monkey unleashed a shrill screech meant to strike fear into the hearts of men. It usually did, but this time the only effect it had was on Scarlett, who turned around immediately with a look of panic on her face. Barbossa's expression seemed to make her nervous, for she pulled away from Ragetti as quickly as she could and stood by herself, staring down at the wooden planks of the deck.

There were a few moments of tense silence. And then...Barbossa slapped Ragetti as hard as he could.

The entire crew paused at the sound of flesh smacking against flesh, and the sharp snap rang out in the sudden and eerie silence that had fallen over everyone and everything. The only noise that could be heard was Jack's shrill, perverse laughter as he hopped up and down on his master's shoulder. Scarlett stared in shock at the Captain, then looked between him and Ragetti once or twice. Though he had not felt the pain, the force of the assault had caused him to stumble back a few paces. He, too, stared wide-eyed in shock at Barbossa, who smiled triumphantly at the red mark his palm had left on Ragetti's cheek.

But Ragetti would have his revenge, as he proved by suddenly pouncing on the Captain, knocking the older man onto the deck. The two of them began to wrestle, taking turns pinning one another to the deck, though neither of them saw this situation as a game. Jack scurried away, scampering up the mainmast so that he might watch the fight from a safe distance above. And it was a smart move, it turned out, because there could be heard various noises of punching and kicking and scratching and perhaps...biting?

Well, it mattered not what they were doing, only that it ended. When the opportunity arose, Scarlett reached down and seized Barbossa's pistol, shortly thereafter raising it above her head and firing it. The sound of the gunshot distracted everyone from the scuffle, including its participants. "I _will_ not have you fight over me," she said to them, with such ferocity in her voice and on her face that neither of them had ever heard nor seen before. "And that goes for the rest of you!" she cried to the rest of the crew. "I will be no man's whore! Do you hear me?"

And with that she threw the pistol down and stormed off, retreating to the sanctity of the Captain's quarters with her skirts billowing angrily.

* * *

I bet you all thought I'd died, hadn't you, lol? Well, fear not, it is but writer's block. And judging by how much I've written just this evening, it appears to be clearing up. Hopefully it'll stay gone. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and all her emotional issues.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Twelve

Scarlett realized that the only way to vent her rage was to destroy something, to make a mess of his cabin so that he could understand the mess he had made of her. She emptied the drawers of his desk, spilling quills and ink and paper, and hurled a brass figurine halfway across the room, so that it hit a chair and fractured the piece of furniture's leg. She knocked the candles to the ground, then moved on to his armoire, removing the clothes and proceeding to tear them and stomp on them and spit on them. She picked up the brass figurine again and threw it at the already broken mirror, smashing it into even smaller pieces. She stripped his bed of its sheets and ripped them to shreds, pulling the pillows apart and allowing the soft feathers to rain down on her head and snare themselves in her hair.

And then she came to his precious bowl of apples, having purposefully saved the best for last. She began to laugh maniacally as she spilled them one by one, then took hold of the brass figurine once more and smashed each of the tart green fruits in turn. She relished in the noise they made as she crushed them, glad for the death of the things that had haunted her since that first day on board. And when they had all been murdered, she released the figurine and sat back to calm herself, taking in the sight of the destruction she had caused.

She hardly noticed when Barbossa came in, and so she did not see the absence of surprise on his face. He had just calmed himself down as well, though he still planned on punishing Ragetti for the audacity of his actions. But he had expected her to be angry, and just knew that she would take it out on random objects in his possession. He had known, too, that she would specifically target the apples, and the massacre of the innocent fruit, though gruesome, was by no means a shock.

He entered the room silently, and closed the door without saying a word. Jack hopped down from his shoulder and scurried over to his perch, which she had knocked at a crooked angle. The Captain's heavy boots thumped across the floor, making the only sound to break the silence until he came to stand beside her. When she became aware of his presence, she began to speak, though she did not look at him. She said, "I hate you. I hate you and your bloody apples with every ounce of strength in my body. I wish you would die, I wish _I_ was dead. It would be far better than a life as your whore." She spat this last word, concentrating all the contempt in it at him.

How he longed to be tender. In that single moment how he wished to hold her and be her lover instead of her warden, which was a mistake he had made all too often during his numerous affairs with her mother. He had been so desperate then not to lose Chelsea to Victor, and though he knew it was an inevitable fate that their relationship would be made to suffer, he attempted to postpone it as long as was humanly possible. He grew so paranoid of their discovery and so insistent that nothing tear them apart that he became the catalyst of his own downfall, finally pushing Chelsea away from him when he found out it was Victor's seed that had been sewn in her womb, and that the child would not be his own.

And here that child was now, grown up and confused with her maidenhead gone, and he was the one at fault. She hadn't known what she was getting herself into when she allowed herself to be "rescued" by his crew, and he was fully aware of that. He had known from the start that it was wrong to take advantage of an innocent young woman, but she was his final hope, and in more ways than one. He had figured out that if he couldn't feel her when they fornicated, if he couldn't feel the tight chasm of this miniature Chelsea, then there was no hope of the curse being lifted until all of the pieces were recovered. But it meant far more than that; if he could not feel her, than any hope of regaining Chelsea's love (albeit vicariously), was gone.

He felt like a failure, and a fool. He felt guilty as well, because now she was weeping and he could do nothing to comfort her. He regretted a great deal of the moments in which he had been gentle to her, for they had allowed her access to the truth, that his feelings ran far deeper than he was letting on. She knew, whether she would admit it or not, and he knew that she would use it against him one day. He decided that he would no longer give her access to such personal information, and he would begin by refusing to comfort her.

"Aren't you going to say anything to defend yourself?" she asked him through her tears, which she was doing a terrible job of restraining. "Aren't you going to tell me that it isn't true, that you see me as so much more than your little harlot?" He said nothing, but retained strong eye contact. "You can't say anything on your own behalf, can you? Because it is true, isn't it? That's all I am to you, a pretty little plaything. Well, I won't do it." She rose to her feet, wiping her eyes. She suddenly reached up and grabbed his pistol, for the second time in one day. She cocked it and pointed it at her temple, a look of fierce determination and certainty in her eyes.

It took him a moment to realize that she truly meant to do it, that she was ready and willing to pull the trigger and end her own life. When this frightening fact dawned on him, he knocked the weapon from her hand and grasped her by the shoulders, pulling her to him and wrapping his arms around her chest to restrain her. She kicked him and slapped him and bit him and scratched him, but he refused to release her. Finally she screamed, "God damn you, let go of me! Why do you care whether I live or die!"

He wanted to tell her that it was because he loved her, but he knew he didn't. In the end, she was probably right; anymore, she was just something to occupy his time. And yet she was somehow more than that, though what exactly was unclear. So he remained silent, unable to answer her. He realized then how much power she must have truly had over him; Hector Barbossa was a man well known for his quick wit and sharp tongue, and it took a great deal to leave him speechless. And yet Scarlett had done just that.

He just let her wear herself out, kicking and hitting him until she was physically exhausted. Only then did he release her, and she fell to her knees on the floor. He turned his attention away from her, focusing instead on Jack, who had descended from his perch to inspect his master's discarded pistol. Barbossa picked up the pistol and watched the monkey as he crawled across the floor to Scarlett, in some futile attempt to comfort her. But she only kicked the little beast away, letting out another noise of anguish as it retreated.

"Why do you do this to me?" she asked after a moment, though her tone of voice was not loud or the least bit accusing; it was decidedly quiet and pathetic, actually. She looked up at him, longing for an answer. "You've not truly hurt me in any great way, save one," she said. "And that ought to be an event for which I should never forgive you. But I see you and feel you near me, and suddenly everything in the world fades away and it is only us. And I feel as though I'd died and gone to heaven when you touch me, when you kiss me. I hate you for it, and I hate myself for enjoying it, but I don't know why you make me feel this way." She began to weep all over again.

He hated being able to say nothing to her, but in truth he had few words for the situation. The incident with Ragetti on deck had confused him as well, so he could be of no assistance to her if he was unsure of his own feelings. He merely continued to stare at her in silence, and she at him, and no words were spoken because no words could be found that would do anything to ease the tension or heal the wounds.

After a time he began to silently clean up the mess she had made, and after a few moments more she joined him. They worked together to set the desk back in its proper place, and put the quills and ink and paper back in the correct drawers. Both of them knew there was nothing to be done about the pillows and blankets, so they used the ruined bits of cloth to safely gather the broken glass. For lack of any other solution, they ended up throwing their small, clinking bundle out of a window and into the ocean.

The apples came last, and Jack proved very useful in that arena. He ran across the floor for a solid half hour, licking up any juice and nibbling on any small pieces of the fruit that Barbossa and Scarlett may have missed during their initial pick up. The two humans stood silently by as their animal companion performed his task, and by the time it was over, the girl actually had a small smile on her face.

Though they exchanged few words, each seemed to be aware of the other's forgiveness for the events of their tremendously turbulent day. She did not attempt to strike him, and he did not attempt to kiss her, though they both felt that some physical form of reconciliation would be much appreciated on both ends. They both realized as well that their troubles were far from over, and he knew that Scarlett still had some growing and changing to do, and that her feelings toward him would grow and change right along with her body. It was a less than pleasant prospect, knowing that their relationship could possibly decline into something that was even worse than it was now, but it was a risk he was willing to take. He wouldn't lose her like he'd lost her mother, and to ensure that he remained with her, he would employ a different tactic of seduction.

And for now, he knew, the best tactic would be to let her take control. If she wanted space, he would back away. If she desired closeness and intimacy, he would be more than happy to oblige. But he had to let her make the decisions, at least for a little while. If he didn't, if he forced her into anything, he ran the large risk of losing her completely, which was obviously something he did not wish to do. So he let her do what she wanted to do.

At the moment, all she wanted to do was go somewhere quiet to think, so she excused herself and made her way silently down to the brig.

* * *

The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and...well, damn, she's about it.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Thirteen

Scarlett spent the remainder of the day locked up in the brig of her own free will. She mostly sat with her legs crossed and pulled up to her chest, thinking about all that had happened in the brief time she had spent on the Black Pearl, with Barbossa. She reflected on what she'd said to him earlier, and decided that it hadn't been a lie. But she knew as well as he did that her mood was liable to change with the wind, and that there was the possibility that it wouldn't be very long before she couldn't stand to be around him again. For now, however, she was perfectly content with the current state of their relationship.

It was with this thought in mind that she intended to drift off to sleep, and so she closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall of the cell...but something distracted her. Her eyes flew open the instant she heard the sound, faint though it was. It was soft and lilting and almost mournful, but above all it was beautiful. She had never heard a sound quite like it before, though it seemed strangely familiar. She listened more closely, shutting her eyes and pausing her breathing to eliminate any other noise, but she still could not discern what was making the lovely music.

She knew that whatever it was, it wasn't human. No human voice she had ever heard sounded quite like the sound that drifted to her ears now, and this made her all the more determined to find its source. She exited her cell without a second thought and emerged on deck, where she found, much to her relief, very few pirates on duty. She did, however, glimpse Ragetti, who made eye contact with her for the briefest of moments before looking away with something akin to shame on his skeletal face. She made to approach him and say something reassuring, but at that moment the music seemed to grow louder, and her concern was replaced with a renewed sense of curiosity.

She traced the source of the music to somewhere sheltered, probably below deck, though where exactly was difficult to know at that point. And though she had a theory, part of her hoped it would be wrong. But her curiosity was greater than her apprehension, so she approached the double doors that led to Barbossa's cabin.

She pressed her ear against the crack between the doors, listening again for the music. And sure enough it grew louder, or rather, it grew clearer. She sighed to herself; she should have known. It was with some hint of butterflies in her stomach that she opened the doors and entered the anteroom, for she knew not what to exactly expect. But she found him not in the anteroom, and so she knew that he must be in his bedroom.

She tiptoed quietly over to his door, and leaned gently against it in an attempt to better hear the music. It softened considerably, as though he were aware of her presence outside his door, which, knowing him, wouldn't be too terribly unlikely. Not only that but the rhythm slowed, and now that the notes only floated into her ears every other moment, she became increasingly desperate to know what instrument he was playing.

She raised her hand and balled it into a little fist, with the intention of knocking ever so gently on his door, but something made her decide against it. She waited outside his room for a few moments more, entranced by the slow, soft melody that the Captain played. Finally she steeled herself and placed her hand on the doorknob, turning it quietly and entering with all the volume of a mouse's footsteps on the floor.

Barbossa sat cross-legged on his bed, with a large instrument in his lap. One of his hands was on its neck and the other was across its body, his long fingers plucking the strings. He was in a strange state of undress; his boots and overcoat had been discarded, both laid near or on the desk, but his hat remained atop his head, hiding most of his face from her. He continued to play, however, plucking out those sad, lovely chords.

And then it occurred to Scarlett what the instrument could be. "It's a guitar, isn't it?" she asked him, though she expected no verbal response. He did not disappoint; instead of saying yes or no, he merely gave her a small smile and nodded. "Father used to have one," she commented. "He would play it on nights when the crew was restless, sitting up there near the ship's wheel, so that we all had a good view of him and could hear him play." She sighed as memories darted across her mind. "It was so lovely."

He said nothing, merely strummed a particularly passionate number of notes, as if to show her that not all guitar music was meant for those sentimental sorts. She apparently understood this, for she smiled at him and said, "I bet you taught him how to play, didn't you? I should have known; Father was always terrible with anything that didn't involve a cutlass or a pistol or something else he actually gave a damn about." Her companion gave a single chuckle, and it caused her to giggle.

Sensing that perhaps some of the earlier tension between them had been alleviated, she lowered herself onto the bed, crawling toward him on her knees. She came to rest beside him, resting on her stomach and supporting her head in the palms of her hands. She looked up at him sweetly, innocently, and said, "Please don't stop playing. I do so love the sound."

This was intimacy of a kind, he decided. If she desired it, he would grant her wish, because right now it was all about what she wanted. "If it's music ye want," he said softly, "then it's music ye'll get." And so he lulled her to sleep by strumming sweetly away on the strings.

* * *

Scarlett awoke the following morning, the guitar's melody still floating through her mind. She found herself alone and fully-clothed on Barbossa bed, with the aforementioned instrument leaning in a lonely way against the wall. It was actually a very nice piece, crafted of some dark wood and inlaid with some gilded script that she could not read; it was written in Spanish, and she was hardly bilingual. 

She emerged on deck moments later, only to be greeted by another blazing Caribbean sun. She flashed a friendly smile at Ragetti, who only waved shyly in reply, earning a prompt whack on the head from Pintel for his courtesy. She smiled sympathetically at his little misfortune, then approached the ship's wheel, where Barbossa stood squinting against the glaring golden orb in the bright blue sky. "Good morning, Captain," she said, smiling widely.

He turned about and nodded in reply, smiling as he said, "An' to ye."

"What's our heading?" she inquired, approaching him.

"To the humble little port of Nevis," he informed her. "Does the name ring a bell?"

"It is not unfamiliar to me. Why? Should I know it better?"

"I should think so. It was where yer father met yer mother."

"What?"

Her confused reaction seemed genuine, and that surprised him. Nevis was most assuredly not a place to be proud of, but surely Victor and Chelsea had told their daughter something of their lives before she had entered the scene. Judging by the puzzled and slightly pained expression on her face, however, they had apparently said nothing of the place their relationship had begun. Because of this, he was somewhat at a loss for words.

She was not. "Is that truly where they met?"

"Of course," he said, as if offended that she should doubt his character for even a moment.

"Why would they withhold this information from me? Not that I need to know everything about their lives before I came into being, but something so simple as that is hardly worth hiding. Why would they not tell me?" she asked again.

"I don't know," he replied in earnest. He found it an equally confusing conundrum.

She was silent a moment, then shook her head, as if determined to shake away any uncomfortable thoughts. "Well, never mind. Why are we headed there?"

This was a question he was able to answer. He turned to look at her again, this time smiling widely. "To get the gold," he replied. She gasped in delight and her eyes went wide at the prospect of adventure. "And we're going to need yer help."

"What can I do?" she asked, sounding mightily excited.

"You can play the part of the damsel in distress."

"Bugger." Her joyful expression was replaced by one of annoyance, and in that moment he saw standing before him not a spirited young maiden, but an adorable child, and he felt a twinge of guilt somewhere deep inside. He quelled that as quickly as he could, for she was speaking to him now. "Do I get to play dress up with the gowns in your armoire?"

He chuckled and turned to face the sea once more. "Yes, yes, ye do."

She sighed and came to stand beside him. Then she said, "In that case, I suppose it's all worthwhile."

* * *

Holy crap, I'm finally updating this one! I know it's been forever but I've been playing Sid Meier's Pirates a lot lately and I just got inspired. Not that I'm complaining... The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I own the redhead and all the people in Nevis. Unless Jack Sparrow somehow pops up in there...but I'm not making any promises, so don't get your hopes up.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Fourteen

Barbossa flung open the doors of the armoire and stepped back, saying to Scarlett, "Take yer pick."

She stood in front of the armoire with her hands on her hips and her head tilted to the side in an overly theatrical gesture of consideration; there were only two dresses from which to choose, and he had a feeling he already knew which one she would prefer. And sure enough, just as he'd expected, she pulled out the green gown and pushed past him to set it on the bed.

But he caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him, positioning her in front of the armoire again. She blinked in mild confusion, then looked up at him and asked, "Why not?"

"It's too fine," he explained, returning it to its proper place in the armoire. "Ye need to look disheveled, an' I know it would tear yer poor heart in half to shred somethin' so pretty." He pulled out the blue gown with yellow bows instead.

She grinned wickedly and made a menacing steeple of her slender fingers. "This is going to be more entertaining than I thought," she said.

He helped her remove the red gown, then stored it away in the armoire for later use. Next he proceeded to give her a hand donning the blue gown, at which point he pulled a knife from somewhere on his person and quite quickly tore a hole in the left sleeve, much to his young companion's surprise. She gasped and whirled abruptly about, a frightened look in her eyes. When she saw what he had done, she glanced between him and the torn fabric and the blade for a moment, then said, "Do that again." He gave a slight shrug and swiped the knife quickly across the right side of her torso, earning him another gasp.

It was only then that he realized what was going on, even if she did not. So he suddenly reached down and grabbed the first bow, ripping it away violently, which caused her to smile and laugh wickedly. "Again," she commanded him, and there was a gleam in her eye now that hadn't been there last night, nor even a moment before. Truth be told, however, he didn't really care how or when it got there, only that it was there at all. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, then took the knife and sliced her stomacher down the middle, which seemed to send her into some sort of happy spasm.

After that, any hope he may have had of getting any work done drifted away on the waves, for it was impossible to convince her to participate in any activity besides the one on which she seemed so intently focused at the current moment. And right now that activity appeared to be...well, he wasn't even sure what goal she was exactly attempting to achieve. She seemed to have adhered herself to his midsection, wrapping her arms around him and embracing him tightly as she buried her head in his chest, as if she were attempting to inhale him. When that failed she seemed to attempt to climb up his body, now draping her arms about his neck and shoving her face into his shoulder.

It was with this breathing tumor attached to his body that he attempted to make his way to the bed, but he was pushed backward onto it before he could sit down of his own volition. He chuckled a little at her forceful behavior, having known from the beginning of this little venture that she'd always had it in her, and glad now that she was finally emerging from her shell, as it were. She practically jumped on top of him, but he quickly turned the tables, not yet ready to let her dominate. They locked eyes for a moment, then locked lips. Each began to frantically undress the other, a frenzy of fingers and fabric and faint moans of pleasure.

And then, just as Barbossa was poised to remove her dress and Scarlett was ready to fling his shirt halfway across the room, there came a knock at the door. Up until that moment his lower lip had been caught between her teeth, so she quickly relinquished her grasp and allowed him to stand up and dress himself. He slipped his shirt on fully and hastily put his arms in the sleeves of his coat, then adjusted his hat to the proper angle and answered the door.

On the other side was Bo'Sun, whose rarely expressive face took on a distinctly apologetic look when he realized the nature of what he'd just interrupted. "Apologies, Captain," he said, without asking for an explanation, "but we're comin' up on a ship."

The Captain cast a backward glance at his captive, whose interest seemed to have been piqued at the mention of the word "ship." He signed in resignation; the moment was lost, so he may as well go see what all the fuss was about. He gestured that Bo'Sun should be on his way, so the crewman eagerly obeyed, making his way up on deck without another word. Barbossa hung behind and waited for Scarlett to ensure that everything was properly put on, and when she was finished, they made their way up top arm in arm.

* * *

Scarlett had apparently been itching for some action for weeks, so at her insistence, the Pearl engaged in what proved to be a rather short-lived battle with a lightly-armed merchant ship called the York. But despite the crew's best efforts to repel the pirates, they ended up collectively tied to the mast all the same. Then, under Scarlett's direction, Barbossa's men searched the ship for anything of value, bringing whatever they found to her for approval. If something wasn't to her liking, she barked at the offending crew member to throw it overboard, which most of them did only after receiving a nod from their captain. 

But a few of his men, and most of the York's crew, seemed truly frightened of her. He had to admit that even in a dress, there was something about her that cut an imposing figure... It was then that he finally saw something her father had passed down to her. Victor had been a man who had a distinct presence, as well as a certain inflection in his voice or some regal obscurity about his appearance that inspired some amount of loyalty. His daughter had inherited both of these traits; she was certainly not a girl easily ignored, and she already had a few of his men utterly devoted to her, Ragetti in particular. And then he quietly laughed at himself, for he realized that he had wrongfully excluded his own name from that list.

One of the men tied to the mast made some sort of cheeky remark, and he was rewarded for his trouble by a swift smack in the face. This made his fellow mates cautiously giggle, but Scarlett would have none of it, hitting the nearest crew member with the back of her pistol. This sufficiently silenced them, and she smiled sadistically, taking pleasure in their pain. Like her father, like a true pirate...

He had never been more glad to see hints of his old friend.

Once the ship had been searched and sent to the bottom of the unforgiving ocean, they returned to the Black Pearl, albeit with little to show for their effort. Barbossa and Scarlett picked up where they had left off, but she sensed that something in his countenance had changed. She contemplated asking him what was wrong, but decided to keep silent. Instead she willingly allowed him to lead, which turned out to be a rather pleasant experience.

He began by slipping the dress down her shoulders, then slowly, sensually massaged them. He sat behind her and planted feathery kisses on her neck, occasionally trailing his lips up to her ear and whispering words to her that she didn't understand. His long fingers traced invisible lines on her flesh that ran from her head to her hips, and always his mouth, moist and warm, would follow. His hands caressed every inch of her, and she simply was not coherent enough to return the favor.

And yet he didn't seem to mind. He didn't undress himself for a long time, as though he just enjoyed touching her, so soft and malleable in his hands, even if he couldn't feel her. He didn't seem to want to mar the beauty of her body by blending it with his own, but he could deny her nothing when she asked it. So for the first time in a long time, he truly made love to a woman.

But in retrospect, as he sat in his bed with Scarlett resting her head on his chest and softly snoring, he didn't understand what had possessed him to do what he had done. Perhaps it was that momentary flash of Victor that had crossed his dozing lover's face, and perhaps that brief flash had made him yearn for what had once been, and what could never be again. Chelsea was gone, Victor was gone, his life was gone. The only reminder of the past slept beside him, blissfully ignorant of his inner turmoil. She had become his last real link to sanity, though he would never let her know it.

At the same time, he would never know just how important he was to her. For even though she seemed serene now, she battled with conflicting feelings every waking moment. On the one hand, Barbossa was the man who had destroyed her life, but on the other, he was the only one left who she could turn to for comfort and protection. And it was ironic, because each depended on the other for the same thing, yet neither would admit such a terrible truth. So they would hide their true feelings beneath a blanket of anger and insults, and only make themselves vulnerable in these tender moments when they were alone.

This was such a moment, and so Scarlett, sleeping though she was, unconsciously reached for his hand. And he took hers and stroked her palm, and kissed her forehead and drew her body closer to his. And then he, too, succumbed to sleep.

* * *

Not a lot to say about this one. But I can tell you that it probably signifies the beginning of the end. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett. And I'm mildly angry today, so no clever remarks for you people.

The Debt To Be Repaid  
Chapter Fifteen

For once Scarlett was the first to wake, a strange phenomenon that would never again occur. She stared through stray locks of crimson hair and watched Barbossa sleep, as if entranced by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, how untroubled his face seemed in the sweet embrace of sleep. After adjusting her own hair, she reached over and pushed some of his behind his ear, then continued to stroke his face. She ran her fingers over his forehead, as if attempting to erase the wrinkles that came with time and hardship and constantly squinting against the sun. It was in that one peaceful moment that a small part of her ceased to hate him and saw that he was only human after all. It was in that one peaceful moment that the same small part of her began to love him.

But it seemed her ministrations, gentle though they were, were enough to wake him. His eyes flew open quite suddenly, and his hand caught Scarlett around the wrist. She made to scream, but he silenced her with his free hand. When he realized who he had captured, he took a moment to enjoy the fright that slowly faded from her eyes, watching her perky breasts rapidly rise and fall in time with the almost audible pounding of her heart. A small smile spread across his lips, and he relinquished his grip as he closed his eyes once more, leaving her gasping for breath.

She glared at him briefly, then threw back the blankets and got out of bed. She began to dress herself, and as she did, she said, "If there's one thing I've learned from piracy, it's that one must be more alert when one is asleep than when one is awake. You must have perfected the art." Glancing back at the bed, she saw his smile widen slightly. Then, bored, she turned to Jack, who provided her with sufficiently-distracting entertainment while Barbossa convinced himself to get out of bed.

He dressed himself as she played finger games with Jack, and he listened to the combined sounds of her laughter and his chattering. He looked at her as he slipped his arms through the sleeves of his coat and once more saw a happy child, with little hint of the woman to whom he had passionately made love not long ago. And once again he felt a twang of guilt somewhere inside him.

So he settled his hat on his head and called to Jack, whose attention was almost instantaneously diverted from Scarlett to his master. The beast hopped onto Barbossa's shoulder without a thought, but the girl didn't stir. She remained, unmoving, at his desk, staring with empty eyes at the bowl of green apples. He picked one up and bit into it, continuing to watch her.

And then she did a very extraordinary thing: She picked up a green apple and began to eat it.

It was with this one simple gesture that she surrendered herself, for as soon as her teeth pierced the bright skin of the fruit, she belonged solely to him. It was an unspoken agreement that they both understood; from this moment forward she vowed to do what he asked without question and carry out said duties with frightening vehemence. He didn't ask why, because he already knew.

Her heart was on her sleeve, but he didn't have one to display. He couldn't love her, not as she loved him, not as she wanted him to. He knew she knew that, but she didn't seem to care. He sighed and stroked her hair once, then gently kissed her head and whispered, "Apologies, miss." She made no reply, but he hadn't expected her to. So he exited his room without another word, locking the door behind him.

* * *

When he returned to his quarters that evening, he found her on his bed, sleeping on her side with a half-eaten apple in her outstretched hand. He fancied her some kind of tragic Eve, who, after tasting the forbidden fruit, found it to be poisoned and passed away in such a pose that bespoke of her untimely death. Barbossa dismissed little Jack, who hopped gleefully over to his post, while the Captain approached his captive. He stared down at her and once more stroked her hair, then began to remove the apple from her hand. 

But as he did he found that his little trick earlier that day had not gone undocumented; she sprang up and clutched at his arm with almost frightening ferocity. "No!" she yelled. Realizing the volume of her voice, she continued in a quieter tone. "Do not distance yourself from me." It was a powerful metaphor that she used, and so he relinquished his grip on the apple, allowing her to hold it to her bosom once more.

There was silence for a few moments, in which time he moved away from the bed to tend to something on the opposite side of the room. As his back was turned she asked, "What language were you speaking before?"

Without turning to look at her he replied, "Spanish."

"I thought as much." Another wordless pause ensued, and then she asked, "What does it say on your guitar?"

Now he turned to her, and there was a look on his face that told her she was treading upon dangerous ground. "That's none of yer concern," he bluntly informed her.

"I'm sorry. I won't ask again."

Seemingly satisfied, he nodded and turned around again, to focus on whatever little trinket with which he'd been fiddling. After a moment he put it down and spoke. "It's my...family's motto."

"Well, I suppose 'Barbossa' certainly isn't an English name. How mixed is your heritage?"

"Very. Me father was Spanish, me mother from Bristol. That's where I was raised."

"Yes, you've got the accent." And then the conversation abruptly ran dry; she had no further questions for him and was unwilling to think of any more. Save one. "Will you...will you teach me to play?"

He smiled at that, but he didn't let her see. He only said, "Someday."

* * *

They reached Nevis within a fortnight, but continued to float off shore for a day or two, presumably to give Barbossa more time to scheme. But Scarlett already knew his plan, as well as her part in it, had rehearsed it a dozen times. She was set to play the sole survivor of a pirate attack, adrift at sea for the past three days with no idea of where she was and little memory of what had happened. She would run into town screaming, and would hopefully be taken to the governor's mansion, where she would relay her woeful tale and beg for assistance. 

Naturally, over the course of their "rehearsal," Scarlett and Barbossa had invented countless ways to deviate from the script, most of which they had explored at great length. But after days of passionate "practicing," the Captain knew it was finally time to get down to business.

So mid-morning, he roused the girl and brought her up on deck, allowing her to peek through the spyglass and gaze about the place where her progenitors had first been introduced. And while she scrutinized its every detail, he reminisced. He remembered the frequent trips Victor would make to this place, always to romance the governor's daughter and perhaps receive a hefty sum for a noble deed done in service to Mother England. This led him to another thought, which led him to say to Scarlett, "Ye know, yer father wasn't always a pirate."

"I don't believe that for a moment," she said, not even looking away from the spyglass.

He chuckled. "I knew ye wouldn't. He used to be a privateer."

This caused a reaction. She put the spyglass down and stared at him, but after a moment realization seemed to dawn on her face. "Which is how he met Mother, yes?" Barbossa nodded, smiling. "You really must tell me more tales of my parents." She put her eye to the spyglass again and stared out at Nevis.

But he only pulled it away from her and folded it up, tucking it away in some pocket of his overcoat. "I'll tell ye stories all night long...when ye return." With that he proceeded to scoop her into his arms and carry her over to the edge of the ship, reminding her, "Now, be sure to tear the hem up in some corral. It'll look more realistic."

"All right," she said, "but-"

However, she didn't get a chance to finish protesting, as he suddenly kissed her forehead and relinquished his grip, so that she went plummeting unceremoniously into the ocean. She had just enough time to curse his name before she hit the water with a powerful splash. She surfaced moments later, gasping for air and wiping the salt water from her eyes. She could hear the Captain and his crew laughing in the background, and as she began to swim toward the island, she called back to him, "Barbossa, you stupid fuck! I'll see that you pay for that!"

* * *

I love the end of this chapter, lol. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and the entire population of Nevis! Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha! But if I haven't mentioned this already, Nevis was an actual port. If you don't believe me go look it up.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Sixteen

Scarlett washed ashore a short while later, spitting salt water as she silently sent a prayer to her father thanking him for the swimming lessons he'd forced upon her in years previous. Contrary to popular belief, the ability to swim was a rarity among pirates; the mindset of most was that they preferred to go down with their ship, thinking it an honorable death. She agreed with them whole-heartedly, but her father had given her little choice in the matter of learning how to survive without a ship. Now she couldn't be happier for it.

She stood up and looked about, surveying her surroundings with quite a critical eye. She could see the town from here, and was surprised at how decrepit it appeared. The buildings seemed gray and cheerless, the streets were filled with filth, the people shouted angrily to one another, and she was fairly certain that three fights had just broken out simultaneously, judging by the sudden increase in volume that seemed to come from three different areas. The only beacon of orderliness seemed to be the governor's mansion, which sat atop one of the highest hills. The tallest point in the place was reserved for the church, which looked to be the most disused structure on the entire island.

Her scrutiny complete, she focused once more on her mission. She quickly reviewed her plan, took a deep breath, and then made to carry it out.

* * *

"Pirates! Pirates!" 

The frantic cry rang through the crowded streets of Nevis, directing everyone's attention to the teen aged redhead who had just entered the town. She looked disheveled and disoriented; she wore a sopping wet blue gown that looked rather shredded, and her slowly drying hair was plastered to her face and neck in strange places, causing her to look rather mad.

She gathered her skirts and ran to the nearest soldier, desperately grasping his jacket as she leaned heavily against him, apparently weak in the knees. "You must help me, please," she begged him, breathless. "Pirates attacked my ship and left me to die, and I fear they're coming to Nevis!" Then she relinquished her grip on the man in uniform and turned to the townspeople that had gathered, shouting, "Repent and pray for deliverance!"

Meanwhile, the soldier motioned to his companion, and both of them came up behind the deranged young woman, each grasping an arm. One of them said, "All right, miss, obviously the heat's gotten to ye. Let's take ye home."

But the other stopped him, saying, "John, I don't think she's from around here."

"What d'ye mean?"

"Well, I've never seen 'er before. And I would recall hair like that."

"_You_ would. What do you propose we do with 'er, in that case?"

"There's only one thing we can do: We've got to take 'er to see the Governor."

John shrugged. "Works for me."

And as they carted her away, Scarlett stared at the ground and smiled triumphantly.

* * *

The Governor was a lean, tall man with dark hair and inquisitive eyes to match. He had long fingers that he liked to constantly keep moving, and he had a somewhat distracting habit of blinking frequently. All in all, he looked rather incapable of running an entire port, and seemed better suited to some sort of secretarial job. But of course, first impressions are usually misleading, and so Scarlett was willing to give this meek-looking man a chance. 

He was apparently willing to do the same for her, as he regarded her carefully with his beady eyes. She had been brought to see him only a quarter of an hour ago, given a blanket and a warm cup of tea, and was now sitting comfortably by the fireplace in his study. She looked up at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak.

And finally he did.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His voice was unexpectedly deep; the low tone seemed so unsuited to the waifish body.

"Much better, thank you," she politely replied, sipping her tea.

"Excellent. Would you be comfortable if I asked you some questions now?"

"Please do."

"Lovely." He sat down in his chair and began his interrogation. "Now, you say your ship was attacked by pirates?"

"Oh, yes, it was terrifying."

"Would you mind going into more detail?"

"Well, I was on the ship..." Here she trailed off, suddenly realizing that she'd forgotten to think of a name. She began to frantically glance around the room for ideas, saying, "Oh, drat, I was always so terrible with names." Finally she spied a golden pendant in the shape of a lion hanging from the mantel. "Oh, yes, it was called the Golden Gryphon, that was it. Anyway, I was on the Golden Gryphon, sailing to St. Kitt's, when we were suddenly attacked by pirates. They blasted a good half dozen holes in the starboard side, so of course that slowed us down a bit, and then they boarded the ship. They killed most of the passengers and crew, but I was able to escape by jumping overboard and latching onto a barrel. I've been floating on that barrel for three days, sir, without food or water or much sleep at all. I'm just so glad to be on land again."

"As is to be expected," he said, smiling, seeming to believe her. "But just a few more questions. I can't imagine that a girl your age would know much about sailing, so tell me...where did you pick up the phrase 'starboard?'"

Scarlett almost raise her eyebrows; this man was smarter than he looked. _Much_ smarter. And more detail oriented. But she had grown accustomed to thinking quickly, so without missing a beat she replied, "Oh, it's just a little something I picked up from the Captain. I'd heard the crew use it throughout the entire voyage and finally I asked him what it meant and he told me."

"And what does it mean?"

With an apparently convincing dash of uncertainty, she said, "The right side, I believe."

He nodded slowly, as if reviewing every part of her little speech and checking for any incongruities. "And what of this barrel you floated in on? If my men were to go down to the shore, would they find it on the beach?"

"I don't believe so, sir."

"And why not?"

"For as soon as I spotted land I swam toward it; I left the barrel far behind, to continuing drifting aimlessly in the ocean. It _may_ have washed ashore, but I highly doubt it."

He nodded again, as if finally satisfied. "Very well, then, dear girl. I have one final question," he said, rising from his chair. "What is your name?"

A part of her knew it would be unwise to give her real name, so she quickly created a pseudonym "Victoria Simpson, sir."

He smiled at her and began to make his way out of the room, saying, "Welcome to Nevis, Miss Simpson. I'll send one of the maids to show you to your room."

* * *

I'll explain Scarlett's pseudonym to everyone, in case some of you don't understand it. "Victoria" is just a feminine version of her father's name (duh), and "Simpson" _is_ her father's name with one letter altered. Just figured I'd make myself clear, you know, as a precaution. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: I own...pretty much everyone in this chapter. So, yeah.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Seventeen

This had been Chelsea's room, Scarlett could feel it in her bones. That was the bed where she once slept and dreamt dreams of the dashing rogue Victor Sampson. There was the vanity table at which she sat everyday while maids styled her hair and powdered her face. This was the armoire where all her finest gowns were kept. And then, perhaps the most poignant of all the relics, the balcony where she stood and waited for her pragmatic privateer to return, the cool sea breeze playing with her crimson hair.

Scarlett opened the doors and stepped out onto the balcony, which was decidedly small but provided a beautiful view of the ocean; so beautiful, in fact, that she was quite taken aback by its magnitude. All clear blue waters and foamy white waves, and birds crying as they dipped down to scoop out fish. She had never quite seen the ocean, which she considered her home, from this particular vantage point. She was very glad she now had the opportunity.

She lingered there a moment longer, small hands grasping the railing, and watched for any sign of the Pearl. She told herself she wanted to see it only to be sure Barbossa had not decided to abandon her, but in her heart she knew she had turned into her mother, impatiently waiting for her beloved to return from his perilous journeys across the seven seas.

But then she shook her head and turned away, going inside and shutting the doors behind her. "No," she quietly told herself, "don't love him. It can only end badly. Focus on the task at hand."

And focus she would...after a good night's rest.

* * *

Scarlett did not wake again until well into the afternoon, when she found in her room a maid, who appeared to be polishing the mirror of the vanity table. When the older woman noticed the girl's conscious state, she said, hardly making an effort to sound friendly, "Oh, you're awake. Finally." She set aside the rag she'd been using and made her way to the armoire while Scarlett sat up in bed, still mildly disoriented. The maid opened the armoire and began looking through the gowns contained therein as she informed Scarlett, "The Governor has requested your presence for dinner." 

"Oh," she said, but knew not what other words to utter. Finally she weakly finished by saying, "Tell him I thank him."

"You'll have a perfect opportunity to do that yourself," the maid replied, then turned to face her with a an indigo gown in her arms. "We've just got to dress you for the occasion."

And thus began the arduous process of turning a pirate lass into a proper lady.

* * *

"Ah, Miss Simpson, you look positively ravishing." The Governor took her small hand and pressed it to his lips, smiling as he did so. 

"Thank you, sir," Scarlett said, giving him a slight curtsy. "I suppose I did not realize how well indigo suited me until this very afternoon. Now I wish I hadn't lost all of my clothes."

"Well, fret not on that matter, my dear," he assured her, hooking her arm in his and escorting her into the dining room. "I have a vast array of gowns at my disposal, any of which I shall gladly give to you, should they fiercely seize your fancy."

"That is very generous of you, sir, and would be much appreciated." She let go of his arm as he pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, giving him a thankful nod.

He took his seat at the opposite end of the table moments later. "Dinner shall be out in a moment," he informed her, "but in the meantime, there is something about which I would like to speak to you."

"Anything, sir."

"I should like to apologize for my unacceptable behavior yesterday; I was trite with you and insulted your character by disbelieving you. Naturally such conduct is inexcusable, but I ask you to consider that I am a very busy man and often preoccupied. As such, I feel I have little time to observe social niceties. But for a lady of your status I shall, of course, make an exception."

"That is all very kind of you, sir, but I must confess that I hardly noticed your behavior yesterday. I'm a little preoccupied myself, as I'm sure you can imagine. My grief disorients me."

"Which is why I believe it is best that you stay here, in my home, until you have recovered from your grief."

She smiled at him, and only half in jest. "Thank you, sir," she said. "That would be lovely."

He smiled at her in reply, and just then half a dozen servingmen emerged with plates of food. As they set them all down on the table, the Governor picked up his utensils and said, "Let us dine."

* * *

"Miss Simpson, there are some very important people I should like you to meet." The Governor and his guest presently stood in the great hall, both staring up expectantly at the stairs. "Oh, girls!" he called out, cupping his hands over his mouth to magnify his voice. This resulted, as if on cue, in the appearance of three beautiful children, each more petite than the last. They came down the stairs in a quiet, orderly line, and they stood as young ladies ought to stand. The Governor then went around behind them and introduced them one by one, placing his hands on their shoulders in a decidedly paternal fashion as he said their names. "This is my eldest, Clarissa," he said of the tallest girl, who gave a polite curtsy. "This is the middle child, Annabelle," he said of the next girl in line, who, like her supposed older sister, curtsied politely. "And this is my youngest, my little angel, Lucy," he concluded, kissing the smallest girl noisily on the cheek. Instead of curtsying, she giggled. 

Scarlett took a moment to survey them all, then finally decided, with joyfully teary eyes, "You have beautiful daughters."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. "But they get all their beauty from their mother, God rest her soul." Here he crossed himself and respectfully lowered his head and closed his eyes, as the children did the same. Scarlett caught on a little late, so she performed a rather abbreviated version of the blessing. Fortunately for her, her hosts were blind long enough that her slight blunder went unnoticed. "She died of an infection when Lucy was five," the Governor explained after he opened his eyes.

"But I remember her quite well," Lucy assured all present.

"Well, that's always good," Scarlett remarked, smiling. "Our loved ones live on in our memories, as they say."

"And I know that she's up in Heaven, watching over us." Lucy pointed angelically upward, as if for dramatic effect.

"That she is, Lucy," said the Governor. "That she is. Oh, now, where are my manners? Girls, this is Miss Victoria Simpson. She'll be staying with us until she is no longer in a state of mourning."

"Why is she in mourning?" Annabelle asked.

"Now, Anna, that's not entirely polite-"

"Oh, I don't mind, truly," Scarlett assured him. Then she turned to Annabelle and explained, "My ship was attacked by pirates."

The trio each simultaneously inhaled an excited gasp. "Pirates, you say?" Clarissa questioned, brow lifted curiously. "It must have been terrifying."

But just as Scarlett opened her mouth to reply, the Governor cut her off, saying, "Now, now, darlings, it's impolite to impose upon a lady as such. I want you all back to your lessons with McDougal. Go on, up the stairs," he said when they did not move, and they each uttered the obligatory groan before doing what they were told, but not before bidding a fond farewell to Miss Simpson.

Once they were gone, that same Miss Simpson said again to the Governor, "You have lovely children."

"Thank you most kindly," he replied. "But I must admit that I was hoping to stay away from the topic of pirates. Curiosity killed the cat and what not."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I wouldn't have brought it up if I had known. But now that I do, I'll be sure not to mention it anymore."

"I would appreciate that more than you could ever know."

* * *

The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and all the people of Nevis, including the Governor and his daughters.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Eighteen

That night, Scarlett felt wonderful. She had a nice place to stay, clothing that was both comfortable and elegant, and for the first time in a long time, she felt as though she were at home. Even on her father's ship, she realized, she hadn't felt at home since she was eight-years-old. And of course the Black Pearl was foreign territory. But here, in the home that her mother had once inhabited, she didn't feel awkward or out of place. Everything was just as it should be.

She began humming to herself as she pulled the brush through her hair, sitting at the vanity table and smiling. A candle burned by her bedside, its flame flickering in the breeze that wafted in through the open doors leading onto the balcony. Once she was finished with her hair, she put on her robe and stepped outside. She placed her hands gently on the railing and stared out at the pitch black ocean, sighing wistfully as she did. And at that moment, she felt more like Shakespeare's Juliet than she ever had in her whole life.

But her magical moment was ruined by a rustling in the greenery below. She gasped and wrapped the robe tightly about her, determined to cover any parts unduly exposed. Then she called out, voice clear and calm although she was not, "Who's there? Show yourself, you bloody coward!"

There was a moment of silence, then a figure emerged from the shrubbery, holding a lantern aloft. She squinted down at it for a time before saying, "Ragetti?"

"Miss Scarlett, I'm so glad I've found you." He came into the center of the small clearing beneath her balcony, so that he could better see her. "I've been searchin' for nigh on an hour."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, voice a fierce whisper.

"Barbossa sent me to check up on ye, make cer'ain you'd made i' safely ashore."

"Well, you may inform your captain that I arrived undamaged, thank you very much."

"Tha's good. 'E also wanted me to remind ye ta stay focused."

She furrowed her brow angrily. "I'm more than capable of keeping focused! I just need some time. I've not been here long enough to gather any useful information."

"I'll le' 'im know," Ragetti promised. "I've got ta go now, but I'll come back in a few days time ta check up on ye again."

"Lovely. Now, if you've nothing else to say, be gone with you, and let me rest in peace." And so saying, she turned on her heel and went back into her bedroom, shutting the doors behind her before Ragetti had a chance to reply.

* * *

The Governor, whose name Scarlett had discovered over dinner the previous evening to be Reginald Wright, offered the next morning to take her on a tour of the town. And so it was that the two of them, tucked away alone in his private carriage, safely traversed the otherwise dangerous territory that was Nevis, or she was led to believe. "I'm quite sorry you had the grave misfortune to wash ashore in this dreary little town, Miss Simpson," he remarked at one point in their journey. "It is no place for a lady, especially one so beautiful as yourself." 

"But I must also be extremely fortunate to have you as my protector," she replied, smiling. And so they rode on. He pointed out to her the homes and other buildings owned by some of the more upstanding citizens of Nevis, and even stopped to chat with and introduce her to a pair of his dear friends, a Mr. and Mrs. Carter, who informed Scarlett that their seventeen-year-old son had recently returned from his naval tour of duty and was looking for a wife. She told them that she was flattered by the offer, but reminded them that marriage was not a decision best hastily made, and that she would first and foremost need to meet the boy before she could even begin to comprehend the idea. Thankfully they didn't seem insulted; on the contrary, they seemed rather relieved that she hadn't refused them out right, and almost hopeful that they may yet wed their son to some beautiful young woman.

And so the horse trotted on, and by the time the sun was at its highest point in the sky, the Governor ordered his driver stop so he and his guest might have a picnic. They lay down their blanket on a grassy knoll some distance from the town's only true plantation, so they could stare out at the massive, majestic fields of ambitious sugar cane that seemed to stretch to the heavens. Here they sat while he attempted to feed her sandwiches and she barricaded her crimson mouth with her fan. If there was one thing she had learned from Barbossa it was how to fine tune her flirting.

When their food was all eaten, the Governor chopped off a section of a stalk of sugar cane and gave it to Scarlett, who promised she would save it for later. With their picnic concluded they spent the remainder of their little excursion loitering around the church, which he swore to restore to its former glory. And then, when finally the sun began to set and their bodies began to ache and complain and demand rest, they rode on home again, to sup with his three lovely daughters.

And as night fell and Scarlett stood on her little balcony looking out on the ocean, she realized that no matter how much she loved piracy...she could very easily grow accustomed to this sort of life.

* * *

The next day, the Governor planned another little outing for himself and his guest, this time a shopping trip. He took Scarlett to one of the few stores there were in town and bought her a new bonnet, a new pair of boots, and had her fit for a riding habit (despite her best efforts to dissuade him from doing so; she feigned fear of horses). He also purchased for her a fine pair of gloves, milky white and made of silk. "For evening celebrations," he smilingly explained, when she turned her cerulean orbs upon him in askance. 

"Do you plan to be hosting many of them?" she further inquired as she slipped the gloves over her wrists to test their tightness.

"Only for your enjoyment, my dear Miss Simpson." And so it was.

With these errands taken care of, he went on to purchase a bolt of some emerald green fabric and promised he would have the maids make a gown of it for her. And over the course of the day he tricked himself into buying much more; if even she cast a second glance on something he snatched it up immediately and bestowed it upon her, so that by dinner time she was so heavily laden with gifts that even when she wasn't carrying them she felt as though she would stumble over. A secret part of her giggled girlishly at the prospect of so much attention being lavished upon her, but a greater part was embarrassed and felt awkward about the entire situation. She knew she wasn't who he thought she was, and that was enough of a reason for her to decide that she didn't deserve all of this, especially from him. She realized, as well, that all the time she was spending with the Governor was time that could be better spent searching for the gold; even in this flurry of frenzied, flirtatious activity she had not forgotten her purpose.

But with every day that passed that purpose seemed to become...well, less purposeful. Ragetti returned to her not once, not twice, not three times or four, but made five midnight pilgrimages to her bedroom balcony before she even had any inkling of where the gold could be. And every time she saw the one-eyed pirate, her guilt grew and grew, and she resolved to be more diligent in her search and not be seduced by this lovely lifestyle.

Thankfully, on a day she needed it most, a not so friendly reminder came to her that woke her from her dream.

It had been nearly a fortnight since she had arrived in Nevis, and that morning the team of a dozen maids had put the finishing touches on her gorgeous green gown. Scarlett stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, pressing the dress against her body as she hummed to herself and twirled happily about. She had left the door open after rushing into her room, too distracted by her own reflection to shut it. Then all of a sudden she caught sight of another figure in the mirror's silvery surface, and whirled about to see how would dare disturb her privacy. And with a sigh of relief she found that it was only Clarissa, the Governor's twelve-year-old daughter. She smiled innocently up at Scarlett, but when the girl did not speak the redhead did. "Hello, Clarissa," she sweetly said.

Clarissa did not immediately reply; she seemed to be soaking in the other girl's appearance with her large eyes the same color as Scarlett's gown. Finally she said, "Did my father purchase that for you?"

"Well, he bought the fabric, yes, but your maids are the ones who put it all together, God bless them."

"Do you like it?"

"Oh, yes, very much."

Clarissa nodded and stepped into Scarlett's room, then approached the girl. "May I touch it?" she politely asked.

"Of course," Scarlett replied.

Clarissa took two great clumps of the fabric in her hands and appeared to simply bask in the feel of it for a moment, then smiled sadistically up at Scarlett as she tore a great gash in the gown, one that stretched nearly the entire length of the skirt. Scarlett was speechless, staring at Clarissa with wide, disbelieving eyes. But Clarissa knew exactly what to say, and her eyes were as dangerously narrow as Scarlett's were wide. "Stay away from my father, you crimson-haired harlot, or this dress won't be the only thing of yours that's ripped up." And so saying, she dropped the gown as though it were diseased and walked silently out of the room, acting as though no altercation had occured.

* * *

Sorry I skipped like, two weeks of story, but I figured that most of it probably would have just been filler, anyway, and now we can move on to the really important part within the next couple chapters. So hopefully you'll all forgive this most grievous offense. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and essentially everyone else. Note the use of the word "essentially"; it's not the same as "all".

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Nineteen

The next morning Scarlett stayed in her room, feigning illness. Maids were sent up occasionally to make sure she hadn't died and see if she needed anything, but for the most part she was left to her own devices, which was exactly what she did need. All day she paced back and forth the length of her room, going over all the possible reasons why Clarissa may have threatened to kill her (because that's what she implied, make no mistake on that). But try as she might, she could think of no solutions.

Fortunately for her, it turned out that she didn't have to; someone already knew the answer. And that someone was presently knocking on her door.

Scarlett let escape a quick gasp, then hopped hurriedly into bed and pulled the covers over her face. Then, in a believably frail voice, she rasped, "Come in."

The door creaked open and in stepped Lucy. "Good morning, Miss Simpson," she said.

"Good morning, Lucy," Scarlett smilingly replied, her voice already a little stronger.

"Do you feel any better?"

"Yes, now that you're here."

"What made you ill in the first place?"

"I think it was the heat. I was outside in the blistering sun for too long yesterday and it gave me a terrible headache."

"Are you sure it wasn't Clarissa?"

Scarlett blinked in surprise. After a moment of hesitation she asked, "Whatever do you mean, Lucy?"

Here, without invitation, Lucy crawled onto the bed and sat beside her guest, staring at her with those intense, unblinking brown eyes. "I know what Clarissa did, and I want to say I'm sorry. It was all her idea and Annabelle and I would never do such a thing to you. Well, Annabelle might, but not me, I promise."

"Do you know why Clarissa did what she did?"

"She doesn't like you," Lucy simply replied.

"Why doesn't she like me?"

"Because you're a redhead."

Somehow this surprised her. So Scarlett further inquired, "Why doesn't she like redheads?"

"Well, you see, when our mother died, our father fell in love with a woman who had hair the exact same shade of red as yours. She and my father had a baby, but the redhead had to be sent away because of it. Ever since Clarissa's been convinced that women with red hair are daughters of the Devil put on Earth to tempt good Christian men like our father. I don't remember any of it, myself, but I believe her. Not about the Devil part, of course, but about my father and the redhead."

"Ah." She took a moment to consider this information, then gave the girl an affectionate pat on the head and said, "Thank you, Lucy."

"Any time...Victoria."

* * *

That night, feeling much better and at the same time much worse about her situation, Scarlett unwittingly drifted into a peaceful sleep, only to be rudely awakened some hours later by a near inaudible tapping on the door. She wasn't sure she'd heard it at first; her eyes shot open like a flash of lightning, but the noise did not come again for a few moments, so she initially thought she'd dreamt it. But just as she closed her eyes and rolled over onto her side in another preparation of sleep, the soft rapping of knuckles upon the door came once again. 

This time, using moonlight as her guide, she got out of bed and lit a candle. Then, wrapping her robe about her shoulders for warmth and propriety, she answered the door. And standing out in the corridor, heavy brass candle holder high above her head, stood little Lucy. Her nightgown billowed out around her like a thousand doves in ascension, making her look at least twice as large as she truly was. But it was not her supposed size that Scarlett was interested in; it was her mere presence here at such an ungodly hour. So in a harsh, though not angry, whisper, she asked, "Lucy, what in God's name are you doing here? And at such an hour?"

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain," Lucy scolded her, wagging her index finger in a very matronly fashion. Then she explained herself: "I've something to show you. Follow me." And with this brief preamble to their midnight journey, she turned about and walked down the corridor.

Scarlett began to protest but found that she didn't have enough time, so she simply gave a quick sigh of resignation and shut the door softly behind her, careful to be quiet. When she finally caught up with Lucy she asked, "Can't this wait until morning?"

"No, morning is when Clarissa's awake." She led Scarlett down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she then set her candle on the table and knelt down to the floor. She felt around along the section of a counter that ran the length of the entire room, probing her fingers into every crack and crevice in the woodwork, until she found what she was looking for. And to Scarlett's amazement, she pulled out a tiny drawer that fit so perfectly into its assigned space that one could hardly believe it was a separate piece. Inside the secret drawer another marvel waited; when Lucy pushed on the bottom of the drawer it sprang up to reveal another secret compartment. Contained therein was a small glittering treasure, obscured by the shadows until Lucy pulled it out into the moonlight.

At the sight of it Scarlett gasped, though certainly not for the reasons Lucy suspected. With wide eyes Scarlett joined her on the floor, where Lucy allowed her to hold the prized possession. As the redhead ran her slim fingers over the surface of the object, she asked, "Lucy...where did you get this?"

"It was a gift from our mother, before she died," the little girl explained, a wistful gleam in her eyes as she stared at the trinket.

"Where did she get it?"

"She told me it was a gift from our father."

But Scarlett was no longer listening, merely staring at the thing in wonder. She turned it over once or twice in her hands, then asked another question. "Why did you show this to me?"

"I thought it would compensate for what Clarissa did; it's our secret treasure, you see, and no one else knows about it besides the three of us. And our father, of course. And now you." She placed her hands over Scarlett's and smiled up at the older girl with such a look of sincerity that Scarlett felt especially guilty about deceiving her and her entire family. "I want you to feel welcome here. I know Clarissa's not very friendly, but my father obviously likes you and that's good enough for me. And Annabelle's a nice girl once you get to know her. Don't worry." She gently patted Scarlett's hand. "Everyone will grow accustomed to your presence; it's just going to take some time. Trust me on that."

Scarlett looked at this girl, so young and already so self-assured, and couldn't help but catch a glimpse of herself; for at eight years of age was she not already a fiery, strong-willed, and to a degree, independent individual? Lucy would be a good woman when she grew up, of that much Scarlett was certain. So she smiled back at the girl and squeezed her hand, assuring her in a whisper, "I do."

And so began the process of bringing about lovely little Lucy's doom.

* * *

I'm not as happy with it as I could be, I'll admit. But it's not terrible and it gets the point across, so who am I to complain? The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	21. Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and all the citizens of Nevis, but none of the pirates. Dang.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Twenty

The next night, when Ragetti came to receive the report, Scarlett was already pacing back and forth along her balcony, her robe for once open and flapping in the chill breeze that bespoke of ominous events to come. Still he whispered up to her, "Miss Scarlett?"

She snapped to attention at the mention of her name, and turned to scan the dark forest of palm trees below her. When she finally picked out the light of his lantern, she rushed to the edge of the balcony, cementing her hands to the rail as she leaned over to communicate with the one-eyed pirate. "Ragetti!" she responded. "I've news!"

"Wha' sor' a news?" he inquired, stepping out of the palm trees to better see her.

"Good news, useful news."

"Wha' is i'? Gimme a message and I'll deliver i' ta Barbossa."

"Oh, no, I'm going to tell the Captain myself."

He didn't reply for a moment, then asked, "Are ye sure tha's entirely safe, Miss Scarlett?"

"Of course," she assured him, waving away any doubt with a trite flick of her wrist. "Everyone's asleep, so no one's liable to notice my absence, provided I return before dawn."

"Bu' how will ye get down?"

"That's where you come in, my good man. I'm going to jump and you're going to catch me."

He began to stutter his protest, but she left little time for argument. When next he looked up at her, she had already climbed over the railing and was poised to jump. So he set aside his lantern just as quickly as he could and held out his arms in preparation of her spectacular leap of faith. And sure enough, moments later, she plummeted from her balcony and barely made it into Ragetti's arms. The force of her landing caused Ragetti to fall down himself, which consequently led to both of them tumbling backward and rolling down the slight hill in a tangle of lanky limbs and flowing fabric. When finally momentum deserted them, she was straddling his waist and his chin was sandwiched in her cleavage. Needless to say, they both blushed fiercely and stood up with such a speed that they feared their knees might crack due to the sudden movement.

And so, lantern forgotten, they made their way to the Black Pearl under cover of darkness.

* * *

The first impression he received of her was that she was much cleaner. Her hair, for one, looked healthier, and he knew this was due primarily to the fact that it was no longer so matted; had he been a good Christian man he would have prayed for whatever poor maid had had to deal with that mess. Her skin seemed more pale, and he realized that the original tan color of her body was more likely due to caked-on dirt than prolonged exposure to the sun. Her nails, too, were shorter and paler, and the tender flesh beneath them flushed pink, blushing for the girl when her cheeks would not. 

He didn't realize until now how desperately he had missed her.

She, on the other hand, had apparently not missed him; she was all business. "I know where the gold is," she informed him, a triumphant smile on her pink lips.

"Do ye now?" he asked, reclining in his chair and propping his legs up on the table as Jack the monkey came to sit on his lap.

"Indeed I do." Her smile remained as she came around the table and picked an apple from the bowl, a green apple. Then, staring pointedly at him, she bit into it; he heard the crunching of her teeth as she punctured its skin and saw the juice dribble down her chin. When he furrowed his brow in askance she swallowed and replied, "I've developed a taste for them." She drew closer to him, and when Jack hissed at her she returned his warning in kind, sending the little beast scrambling to his perch. With this accomplished she turned her attention to Barbossa, fixing him with a decidedly sultry gaze as she said, "But I want something in exchange for my information."

"What did ye have in mind?" he inquired, smiling at her the same way she was looking at him.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a wistful little sigh, dragging her index finger across the table to draw distracted circles with her nail. "I was thinking something along the lines of-" And here she tossed the apple aside and threw herself on him, nearly sending the chair toppling backwards. She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her lips violently against his, while he wrapped his arms about her waist and planted his legs firmly on the floor. He pulled her tightly to him and moved away from her mouth to kiss her breasts, while she hugged his head and breathlessly whispered to him, "You can't believe how desperately I need this."

So perhaps she had missed him after all, if only a little.

* * *

Some time later, the Captain and his guest emerged from his cabin. He immediately instructed one of his crew to make ready a lifeboat, while he unhooked his arm from the girl's and instead took her hand in his. "Thank ye for yer...information, Miss _Simp_son," he said, pressing his lips tenderly to her dainty knuckles. 

"It was my immense pleasure, Captain Barbossa," she replied, a satisfied smile on her lips. They linked arms once more and made their way to the edge of the ship, where they stood in conversation for a moment until the lifeboat was sufficiently prepared.

"So what's yer plan?" he asked her.

"Well, in two days time the Governor is hosting an evening ball. It should carry on until well after dark, and judging by the current weather it's going to be cloudy that night, so I'm sure your men will have plenty of coverage. You should be able to just storm the Governor's mansion, do a bit of pillaging and plundering, the usual."

"And what about the gold?"

"Leave that to me; I'll have that completely taken care of."

He looked as though he would speak some more, but at that moment Bo'Sun came up and informed him, "Lifeboat's ready, Captain."

Barbossa nodded and escorted Scarlett to the lifeboat. He helped her in and made sure she was properly seated, then watched as the boat was lowered into the water. But just before she was out of reach, she clasped his hand one last time and said, "Godspeed, Captain." Then she relinquished her grip on him and was gone into the night.

* * *

The evening of the ball finally came, and Scarlett was more nervous than she remembered ever having been in her entire life. She felt as though her stomach were filled with a thousand butterflies all fluttering madly about, and she was having trouble remaining conscious. But she was determined to maintain her composure; she knew what would be at stake should she fail to do so. 

Through supper her feelings about her situation were mixed; on the one hand, her charade seemed to be holding up splendidly, and if anyone thought she was a fraud, they certainly weren't voicing their opinion or even flashing her dirty looks from across the table (with the exception of the Clarissa, of course, who hated her for other reasons). But on the other she was so unbearably uncomfortable with what was happening around her that she was afraid she would expose her true identity at any moment.

After supper they were all made to sample one of the fine chocolate concoctions the Governor had managed to procure through trade with some of the local peoples. They were each given a tea cup full of hot cocoa, which they were asked to sample and then opine upon. The Governor's daughters were present for this tasting ceremony, in which they avidly participated. They truly proved themselves to be girls of noble birth with very discerning palettes, for even little Lucy remarked upon the slight bitterness of the drink. Suffice it to say this earned a polite chuckle from all the adults, but Scarlett only sipped the cocoa and said, "I think you're right, Lucy." This put a smile on the girl's face, for she had seemed mightily discouraged when everyone had begun to laugh at her.

After the cocoa had been completely consumed, the girls bid everyone good night and were escorted to bed by their governess, McDougal. And when they were all away, the dancing began.

That was the point at which Scarlett was introduced to Edward Carter, the son of the couple whom she had met the day of her picnic with the Governor. He was certainly very handsome, with silky blonde hair and green eyes that shone like emeralds. He had a strong jaw and high cheekbones, and a nose that was perhaps too pointed, though it did not overshadow the rest of his otherwise fine features. He was tall, even lanky, but carried himself well and did not swing his long limbs too much as he walked. But perhaps his crowning achievement was his polite and gentlemanly manner; he bowed respectfully to her and planted a very chaste kiss on her hand. She smiled warmly in return but was not prepared for what he next said to her:

"Would you honor me with a dance, Miss Simpson?"

* * *

And just as everything appears to be going according to plan...DUN DUN DUN! Tragedy strikes! To see said tragedy you'll have to stick around for the next chapter. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and everybody in Nevis...well, except the pirates when they attack, but haven't I already made that painfully clear?

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Twenty-One

Scarlett flashed him another polite smile and replied, "I would like nothing more, Private Carter, but I've already promised Governor Wright my first dance of the evening."

"Oh, come now, we all break a few promises in our lifetime," the Governor said, placing a hand on the small of her back, as if to push her forward and thereby release her from her verbal contract. "Have a dance with the lad; I can't think of a better candidate to take my place."

She smiled thankfully up at him. "In that case, Private Carter, you've got yourself a dance."

"Please," the young man said, as he took her hand and kissed it for the second time that evening, "call me Edward."

"Then I would be honored if you would call me Victoria." And so they made their way into the cluster of swirling skirts and twirling tailcoats and began to dance.

Scarlett had been practicing since the day the ball had been announced. She had had no prior training in the delicate art of the dance, of course, as she had not been born into a life where she was required to attend social functions that featured such activities and was therefore never required to learn them. What she had told the Governor was that she had never been much of a dancer (which was by no means a lie), and that her months at sea had helped her none (which was also by no means a lie). Being that that was the case, the Governor himself had endeavored to teach her a few of the most fashionable dances. During her period of instruction she had learned that she had something of a talent for it, latent until that moment.

So now, as her fingers twined with Edward's, as his hand rested on the small of her back and hers gently clutched his shoulder, she inhaled and exhaled deeply and thought back to everything she had learned in those seemingly few days. The music played and she stepped in time with the rhythm, and not once did she falter. He spun her about and drew her close to him again, he lifted her in the air and brought her down to the ground. He drew her close to him and whispered in her ear, and she laughed in delight.

And then the dance was done, and applause was given to both the musicians and the dancers. Scarlett and Edward briefly retired to have a drink and speak of trivial things. They laughed and smiled and she touched his arm and he playfully tugged one of her springy red ringlets. Then he pressed his lips to her ear and whispered again to her, this time some subtle suggestion. She drew away quickly and stared at him with a contemplative expression on her face, but before she could reply they were (perhaps thankfully) interrupted.

"Pardon me, Miss Simpson, but the next dance is about to begin and I was hoping you would be willing to exchange partners for a time?"

Scarlett looked up to see the Governor standing beside her, his hand held out in invitation and a hazy, almost dreamy look in his eyes. She glanced briefly at Edward in askance, who only nodded. So she said, "I would be honored, Governor Wright."

They took to the floor just as the music began to play. Once they had been dancing for some moments the Governor remarked, "You look absolutely resplendent, Miss Simpson."

"You look quite handsome as well, Governor Wright," she replied, as he sent her twirling on her way.

"Have you thus far enjoyed yourself on this most wonderful of evenings?"

"Oh, yes, very much."

"I can see that your skill at dancing has greatly improved; it seems you've developed a talent for it, after all."

"Yes, I can safely say that I've no longer two left feet. And I have you to thank for that."

"Oh, come now, it was all thanks to your natural, lady-like grace."

She blushed and turned her head shyly to the side. "Oh, sir, you flatter me."

"I intend to."

The dance was concluded shortly thereafter and she returned to the company of Edward. He took her by the hand and told her there was something he wished to show her, and he led her to the veranda on the east side of the house. They were all alone save for a handful of servants, who were promptly dismissed. Then the two young people stood by the railing and rested their hands on it as they stared out at the night sky, already dark and littered with stars. "Is this what you wanted to show me?" she asked. "It's beautiful."

"Yes, beautiful," he distractedly replied. But he was neither looking at nor referring to the stars. She, however, seemed blissfully unaware of this. They stood silently beside one another for what felt like a time before Edward cleared his throat and asked, "Miss Simpson, if you do not think it too forward of me, may I call you Victoria?"

She turned to face him and smiled. "I've already said you may," she reminded him.

"Oh, yes, of course. I apologize; I'd quite forgotten. In that case I've another question for you: Would you, perhaps, let me kiss you?"

This was the question he had previously asked her, when he'd whispered in her ear before she'd danced with the Governor. She had given it little thought then (though she'd made sure it seemed as though she were truly contemplating it), but now, underneath the brilliant stars and the blanket of night time, she thought that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to press her lips to his for only the most chaste of kisses. So she put her hand on his and gently rubbed his knuckles, smiling at him once more as she said, "I would like nothing better."

And so they each pursed their lips and closed their eyes and leaned toward one another and all of a sudden...from inside the house there came a great scream.

They drew away from one another just as quickly as they could, though Edward was perhaps more disappointed by their interruption than Scarlett, due to the fact that she knew exactly what that scream meant; her salvation was nigh, for the pirates had come. But she feigned ignorance of the entire situation, clutching Edward's coat in a brilliant imitation of panicked hysteria, whispering loudly, "Oh, Edward, I'm so frightened! What was that horrid scream all about?"

"I know not," he said, "but I intend to find out. Stay here, Victoria, and I shall go investigate." He feverishly kissed her hands one last time before he ran off.

But of course she had no plans of staying there, instead doing exactly as he had done but instead going immediately to the kitchen, which she fortunately found quite deserted. There was no light in the room save for what spilled in through the cracks between the door and the floor and the walls, and it was by this light that she found the secret drawer. She pulled it out and pressed down on its bottom, revealing the gold coin beneath, which seemed to almost smile and wink at her when she held it up to the moonlight that now filtered in through the uncurtained windows.

But that mattered not. With the treasure taken, she then stuffed it carefully between her breasts, which were given plenty of cleavage thanks to the lung-crushing corset she was wearing. After everything was in place, she emerged from the kitchen and went to the dining hall, prepared as she was ever going to be to do what she had to do.

* * *

I'll admit that this chapter is a little shorter than I would have liked it to be, but I think that if I tried to continue it from this point it wouldn't be as effective; I feel like I would be attempting to cram too much action and dialogue into too little space, and I think neither me nor you guys would be as happy with the results as if I just left you all in suspense right here, lol. So that's what I'm going to do. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Disclaimer: Let's just say that I _don't_ own the pirates, but that everybody else is mine.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Twenty-Two

He was struck immediately by the magnitude of her beauty. He thought that he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life (except, perhaps, her mother, which would explain why she looked as good as she did). She impressed him so greatly, in fact, that he stood stock still just to stare at her. His crew rushed past him, swords and pistols drawn and some already in action, but he was frozen by the very sight of her.

He put his pistol back in its holster and approached with the swift stride of a love sick young man the likes of which he hadn't been in many a year. He caught her off guard and wrapped his arms about her waist, hoisting her into the air until her mouth was level with his, and then kissed her as passionately as he had ever kissed her. She was too surprised to react at first, but when she saw who it was that had enveloped her in strong, comforting arms, she returned the kiss in full, similarly twining her arms about his neck.

"Victoria!"

Their touching reunion was interrupted by Edward's angered shouting, as he charged Barbossa with his sword drawn. Scarlett screamed, fearful that Edward would discover the Captain's secret or that Barbossa would wound the Private. And indeed it looked as though he would, for the pirate, too, drew his sword and readied himself for an altercation. Their blades clashed with a mighty twang, but that was all that ever came of it.

So instead of fighting with swords, Edward decided to fight with words. "Unhand her, you spineless cur!" he heroically cried.

But before Barbossa had a chance to reply, Scarlett came to Edward's defense, cautioning him, "No, Edward, don't, please; he'll kill you."

"Fear not, Victoria, I've met with the likes of him before."

"Ye'd best be thinkin' again, boy," Barbossa snarled.

"Please, Edward, don't be a hero," Scarlett said again.

"No, I'll not let him abduct you!"

At this Barbossa laughed in the lad's face. "Abduct?" he repeated, a sadistic smile on his lips. "Ye think we pirates are men of no manners? If she wanted ta stay, I'd let her."

"But I've no intention of remaining in this hellish place," she assured them both.

Edward looked confused, even hurt, as one of Barbossa's crew approached him from behind and disarmed him without much effort. As they bound his hands behind his back he only stared pleadingly at Scarlett and asked, "Why?"

"Because I love him," she replied, without the slightest hint of hesitation or uncertainty. Barbossa blinked and stared at her in mild surprise, but knew that it was a subject best discussed at a later date. In the meantime Edward was carted away in shock, to be heaped up with the rest of the hostages already bound (and most of them gagged). Then Scarlett withdrew from her cleavage the coin, which she held up to Barbossa, who stared at it in wonder. A satisfied smile soon spread across his lips, and he let out a little laugh before taking her in his arms and kissing her again, perhaps more passionately than he had previously. When they finished devouring one another's mouths, she broke away, breath heavy, and said, "I want to get the blood from the Governor." So he gave her his dagger and she went off to do just that.

However, when the Governor first saw her, he shouted, "Run, Victoria, run for your life!"

"Oh, hush, you idiot, I'm in no danger," she told him. Then she knelt down so that she was level with where he sat crouched on the ground. She showed him the coin, a sadistic smile on her lips, and asked, "Remember this?"

"No," he said, sounding rather sure of himself. "Why should I? And what's going on; why aren't you in danger?"

"You ought to remember it because you gave it to your wife," she reminded him, already agitated.

"I've never seen that trinket in my life," he persisted.

"Your youngest _daughter_ said you gave it your wife!"

"Then Lucy, darling though she may be, is mistaken."

She glared at him angrily, then slapped him hard across the face. "Useless swine," she cursed, standing up. She ordered one of Barbossa's crew, she wasn't sure who, "Keep watch over the prisoners." And so saying she disappeared up the stairs.

It took her a moment to locate the room in which the girls slept, but when she finally found it she crept quietly inside and over to the bed in which Lucy was dreaming her innocent dreams of Heaven and angels and her mother. Scarlett affectionately brushed the hair from the sleeping child's face and withdrew the dagger. She almost regretted hurting little Lucy in place of her sister, but she knew that if she went after Clarissa she could have very easily killed the girl. So she contented herself with slicing into little Lucy's little wrist...

Until she woke up.

Her big brown eyes blinked slowly as she looked about the room to find her father's guest standing over her bed, looking very sad and very sorry. So she sleepily muttered, "Miss Simpson?"

But the redhead only held a finger to her lips to signal that she needed quiet. "I'm sorry, Lucy, I didn't mean to wake you," she gently whispered. "But I need you to do something for me, all right?"

"What?"

"I'm going to give you a little pinch on the wrist, all right? And afterwards you're going to feel just a little bit of cold. Do you think that would be all right?"

"Yes," Lucy replied, yawning, for she was already drifting back to her dreams.

So Scarlett bit her lip and nodded, knowing what she had to do. She withdrew the dagger once more and ever so carefully made a minute incision on Lucy's wrist. The girl gasped but was too far between states of consciousness to do much else. After the cut had bled for a moment Scarlett then pressed the coin to it, holding it there until she felt enough of the crimson liquid had been absorbed. Once this was done, she gave Lucy a tender kiss on the forehead and crept back out of the room just as stealthily as she had crept in.

She returned to the dining hall downstairs to find the place in such a state that the tension in the air could be cut with a knife. As she came down the stairs, the Governor yelled at her, "What in God's name is going on, you filthy harlot?"

This earned him a swift and undoubtedly very painful kick in the side from Barbossa, who informed the Governor rather haughtily, "I'm the only one who's allowed to call her that."

She smiled at Barbossa, despite being a little insulted at the same time. Still she said, "Thank you, Captain. I shall deal with him from now onward." She approached the Governor and ordered that one of Barbossa's crew help him stand, being that he was bound like the rest of them. "You want to know what's going on?" she asked him, not expecting an answer. "Then I'll gladly tell you. I came here, pretending to be a genteel lady from England, in order to recover this-" and here she held up the blood-stained Aztec gold- "which you claim you have never seen."

"I stand by that claim," he said defiantly.

"That doesn't matter now; I've got what I need. But that's beside the point. I fooled you, in so many ways. I made you believe I was a noble woman, I made you believe that I had any sort of desire to be your paramour; don't deny it, for I could see it in your eyes on so many occasions. And according to your lovely little Lucy, I hear you like redheads."

"Leave my daughter out of this, you dishonorable whore!" the Governor shouted.

She slapped him again, scolding him, "Ah, ah, ah, manners, Governor Wright. I'm not yet finished speaking. Now, as I was saying, despite all the deception, there were a few shards of truth in what I told you."

"Reveal them now; I would so like to know what they are."

"I would, if only you would hold your tongue. Or perhaps I must do it for you." She took his face in her hands and squeezed his cheeks together, so that speech of any sort was rather impossible. "That's better," she decided, a satisfied smile on her lips. "I am, in fact, a woman of noble birth, but I was not raised as such. In fact, this cozy home in which you reside in such comfort with your pretty daughters ought to be my domain, for, you see, my mother was once a governor's daughter."

She relinquished her grip on his face so that he might clarify the information he had just received, for his eyes certainly spoke when his mouth could not. He asked, "Your mother was Chelsea Larkin?"

"That's right. What a good boy you are. How ever did you know?"

"Chelsea was my cousin..."

"Which disproves the myth that blood is thicker than water, eh? For though I share blood with you, I would gladly see you suffer. However, because of our familial ties, I'll spare your life and those of your daughters. But everyone else shall die."

That was all the motivation the crew needed to get to work. And so while Barbossa's men set about slaughtering all the guests in attendance, the pirate and his paramour shared one last perfect, passionate kiss.

* * *

The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	24. Chapter Twenty Three

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett. And she's the only one, finally, lol. Well, with the exception of Charles. Yes, we'll finally get to meet the mysterious man whom Scarlett claims to love with all her heart.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Twenty-Three

"No."

She stopped with her hands halfway to her hair and turned to face him, her eyes questioning his command. He did not reply for a moment, only approached her and took her hands in his, lowering them to her side before she could release her hair from its intricate braids. Then he silently stared at her, finally deciding, "Ye look beautiful."

"So I've been told," she said, smiling up at him.

He released her hands and instead wrapped his arms about her waist, pressing her body close to his and kissing her deeply. She held his face in her hands and when they finally finished, they pulled away from one another and each simply gazed into the other's eyes. Then he leaned down and gently nibbled her ear lobe before whispering, "Ye can be on top."

* * *

In the days that followed they made love with increased regularity and intensity, as though they knew that this time spent together would be their last opportunity to do so. They returned the gold to the chest and he gave her an emerald necklace as a gift of gratitude for her help. She loved it, naturally, and would surely have stripped him on the spot if they hadn't been interrupted by an impromptu screech from Jack the monkey. They took this as a sign that they should go no further, and so they stopped. 

The crew then unanimously agreed that their next port of call should be Tortuga, for they felt as though they deserved a bit of a reward for so skilfully recovering the most current piece of the cursed treasure. And so they set sail immediately for Tortuga.

But Scarlett apparently had other plans, which she made very clear to the Captain as they were en route to the squalid pirate haven. Of a sudden one day, she stared out at something in the distance, eyes squinted against the sun, and said, "Let's drop anchor on that island over there."

Barbossa blinked and followed her finger until he saw a minute speck of land maybe three leagues to the west. He pulled out his spyglass and handed control of the ship's wheel over to Bo'Sun, who happened to be the nearest crew member at the moment. Then he went to stand beside his young guest and held the spyglass to his eye, staring out at the island while Jack chirped curiously from his shoulder. From his brief initial survey he could discern the presence of no people or buildings of any kind, so he put away his spyglass and asked Scarlett, "Why?"

"Because," she replied, and for some asinine reason he knew that it was an acceptable explanation. So they changed their course and made their way toward the small, apparently uncharted island, sailing directly against the wind. This only prolonged their journey, so that they did not finally reach their destination until the sun had already begun to set. They dropped anchor shortly thereafter.

It was then decided that a handful of pirates (Pintel and Ragetti among them) were to stay and watch the ship while the rest of the crew went ashore. Once there, Barbossa ordered said remainder of the crew to go explore the surrounding jungle and see what they could see, knowing full well that such an activity would keep them occupied for hours. And that was exactly what he (and undoubtedly Scarlett) wanted.

When they were finally left all alone (with the exception of Jack the monkey, of course), they strolled silently down the beach, arm in arm, until they could no longer see the Black Pearl looming in the distance like a great rain cloud. There Jack was left to play among the palms with his primate brethren, swinging happily from branch to branch and chattering noisily with the rest of them, while the master and his mistress coaxed one another out of their clothing. Though he was quick to remind her, staring at the already starry sky, "We've not got much time."

"Which is why you've got to hurry up and get in the water," she chided, playfully splashing salt water at his bare feet. "It's actually quite warm," she assured him.

That wasn't what he was worried about, though in truth he didn't know the cause of his concern. But he didn't want to get into the water with this free-spirited nymph, who was ruining her pretty hair with the droplets of salt water that made it sparkle in the darkness. He wanted to drag her out of the ocean and...he didn't know what he wanted to do with her. But not this. It felt too final somehow, as though this magical moment would be the last they would ever share.

She felt it, too, he could see it on her face. But either she didn't care or she was ignoring the feeling of impending doom, and so he walked down the beach toward her and the water, naked in the deepening darkness. He took her hands as the gentle waves crashed against them, and they sensually bathed one another, slowly stroking and sucking and carefully kissing and caressing. They held one another gently, and tears where shed, though they mingled so seamlessly with the ocean water that neither of them noticed, though both of them secretly knew.

And they, too, seamlessly mingled, standing among the docile waves whose rhythm matched their own. And as they simultaneously climaxed, the ocean shared their joy, and a large wave washed over them, drowning them in pleasure as they pressed their lips together. It washed them ashore, and though the sand ground against their skin, they paid it no mind, and did not move until the moon finally emerged from its hiding spot behind the clouds and turned his flesh to bone.

By that point the crew had formed a search party in an effort to locate their Captain. Few of them were surprised, however, to see him emerge from the distance with his darling. They then boarded the ship without further comment and set sail once more for Tortuga.

* * *

The next evening they reached Tortuga, which was, predictably, just as dirty as ever, making Scarlett look horribly out of place in her lady's gown with her hair still up in intricate braids and curls. More than a few men stopped to remark upon the price of her services or inquire after them, but all who did were quickly disposed of by one or more of Barbossa's crew, who acted as a sort of team of bodyguards for their Captain and his guest as they made their way to the Faithful Bride. 

Once inside the pub they all simultaneously sat down at a large table, ordering a pint of rum all around and two glasses of wine. They sat in silence until all the drinks arrived, then Barbossa gave them a nod and they all dispersed in a remarkably orderly fashion, relocating to their favorite haunts or retreating to the bar to smack the asses of passing wenches to see how they would react. Even Scarlett and Barbossa went somewhere more private, but not before finishing their wine.

They found an empty little room on the second floor, dark and dank and dirty, but they didn't care, so long as they were alone. Jack hopped up onto the windowsill and stared out the open window at the cloudy sky, then quietly occupied himself with twiddling his little fingers and attempting to groom himself. Meanwhile Barbossa had Scarlett pressed against the wall, their tongues slowly mingling in their mouths as they lazily undressed one another. She fumbled with the clasps on his trousers as he lifted up her skirts.

And then, just as he had begun to tease her clitoris with his long fingers and she massage his member, the door of their little room flew suddenly open. Jack screeched in surprise and Barbossa looked as though he would shoot the person who had interrupted them, but Scarlett only clutched at her companion in something akin to fright. That is, until she realized who it was that had crashed through the door.

"...Charles?"

The man pulled away from the whore on whom he'd been rather drunkenly leaning, blinking sleepily at them with bloodshot eyes. When his vision finally cleared he blinked again, this time in surprise. Then his eyes grew wide, and he his mouth hung open. "Scarlett? Scarlett Sampson?"

"Oh, Charles, it is you!" she cried, rushing out of Barbossa's arms and into Charles'. "I knew you were alive! I knew that somewhere you would be waiting for me!" She hugged him tightly round the waist and pressed her lips to his, ignoring the stench of rum on his breath.

He responded similarly, practically pushing the prostitute out of the room as he swept Scarlett into his loving embrace. He lifted her up and returned her kiss with equal passion, and standing there like true lovers, they painted a beautiful portrait; it disgusted Barbossa. So before things went too far, he cleared his throat to remind them of his presence. They politely pulled away from one another, and a moment later Charles asked, "Who's this?"

Barbossa considered the man before him. He had chocolate brown hair that was short but plentiful, sticking out at odd angles from his head. His eyes were a penetrating light blue, but aside from that his facial features were all rather soft, most notably his gentle mouth and slightly curved nose. But he was decidedly tall, perhaps standing even a head or so higher than Barbossa himself. In spite of this the Captain decided that he posed no imminent physical threat, so he extended his hand and introduced himself. "Captain Hector Barbossa."

Charles' face darkened at the name, and he refused to shake the other man's hand. "Barbossa? You're the bastard who attacked our fleet." He quickly drew his sword. "Prepare to pay."

But Scarlett only put a hand on his and lowered his arm. "Charles, don't be daft," she calmly requested of him. "He'll kill you."

He was surprised at her; she seemed so sure of herself on this matter, and he wondered if she spoke from experience. So he slowly, if grudgingly, lowered his sword and returned it to its holster. Then he cleared his throat and said, "I'm sorry, sir, if I at all acted untoward."

"No offense taken," Barbossa assured him.

"Splendid," Scarlett said, already taking Charles' arm. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Captain, we have some business to attend to." And so saying she escorted Charles out of the room; Barbossa did not see her again until the following morning.

* * *

The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and Charles and that's about it.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Chapter Twenty-Four

"So...what have ye decided?"

"I'm...going to stay with Charles."

He nodded evenly, betraying no emotion in that single movement. "I knew ye would."

"Don't be upset." She reached out to touch his arm, but he jerked it away. She similarly withdrew her hand, though there was a palpable air of sadness in the slow gesture. She didn't know what to say to make it better; she could not quite remember him ever having been angry at her, at least not in this cold, cutting way. She didn't know what to say.

He went to the window and surveyed the sunrise, stroking Jack the monkey as he stood. She stared at his bare back, wanting nothing more than to go to him and hold him. Instead the two of them simply subsisted in silence. Finally he grew tired of the lack of action, so he asked, "Are ye still here? Yer husband will be wonderin' what's become of ye."

She narrowed her eyes at him, not caring that he couldn't see it. "He's not my husband. And I've got time to waste. We'll not be setting sail until tomorrow morning. As per my request," she added, which caused him to turn and raise one eyebrow in askance, though he said nothing. "Yes," she continued, cautiously coming nearer, "I wanted to spend one last night with you, even if you're more than ready to be rid of me. One more night of romance and passion, and then we'll never see one another again. At least grant me that one final kindness."

And of course he would, because she could ask anything of him and he would do it without question, so he turned away from the window, away from Jack, and came to stand in front of her. She thought he would kiss her, but he only took her hand and pressed it to his lips, whispering to her, "Yer wish is my command."

* * *

She was summoned after sunset, escorted from the little room Charles had rented in one of the more respectable establishments in Tortuga (if one could really call any establishment in Tortuga "respectable") to the Captain's cabin of the Black Pearl. She was left alone outside the double doors, which seemed, oddly enough, to have been polished since she'd last seen them, and correctly assumed that it would be her duty to knock upon them. When she did she heard his voice from within call out, "Enter." 

She did just that, but was wholly unprepared for the sight that awaited her eyes. It was enough to make her gasp. The entire anteroom was lit with nothing but candles, giving everything a soft, almost angelic glow. A simple meal was laid out on the table, though it looked and smelled exquisite. There was even a vase of rich red roses in the center of the table, and other such garlands were hidden all about the room.

But perhaps the crowning piece was the man who had put it all together. He stood by the table, his little monkey on his shoulder, and looked at her in askance, as if seeking her approval. But she was too busy staring at him to give anything. He had combed his hair and cleaned his nails and generally looked as though he'd bathed himself. His tattered blue hat remained, but in place of his usual blue overcoat was the green velvet one she'd spotted in his armoire. His shirt, too, was one she'd found while raiding his stash of clothing: the silk one with the lace cuffs. He also had a pair of trousers to match his overcoat, and where he'd hidden them she didn't know, for they were not among the things she'd found in his armoire. His waistcoat was predictably green, but it was a fine brocaded thing, with little silver embroidery sewn in. He was truly a sight to behold.

Not that she wasn't. She'd spent the entire day cleaning everything from her hair to her dress, the indigo one she'd received as a gift from the Governor of Nevis; she'd decided the color suited her, and so had worn it on the night she was rescued from the monotony of upper class living. She'd had to take her hair out of its braids to wash it, but she'd been fortunate enough to find a woman who knew how to style it properly, so it was up in its intricate curls again. All in all the two made a splendid couple, and one would never guess that they were but a pirate and his paramour.

He woke her from her dazed state when he finally asked, "Well, what do ye think?"

"I think...I think it's incredible. But especially you. You look incredible."

"Ye don't look too shoddy yerself," he replied. "That color suits ye."

"Yes, well, I've always heard that red and some shade of violet make a good match." She smiled, almost nervously, and inwardly berated herself for acting like a silly, lovestruck little girl. But the entire situation was a little overwhelming, so she supposed some of her behavior was to be expected. "Green looks good on you," she suddenly continued. "But I think I prefer you in blue. It matches your eyes." Her smile came easily now.

"Yers, too." He returned her grin with one that made her knees weak. He seemed to pick up on this immediately, and appropriately responded by walking toward the chair where she was obviously meant to sit, pulling it out for her as he gave a flourish of his hand.

She finally convinced herself to move, sitting down in her seat as she quietly thanked him. He pushed her seat in, then took her hand and pressed it to his lips before going to sit at his own place at the opposite end of the table. As the Captain sat his pet popped over to his perch. And with everyone seated, they began to eat.

* * *

"Oh, Hector, it's beautiful." 

This was the first time she'd said his first name, but he ignored that in favor of seducing her. "Not so beautiful as ye," he whispered in her ear as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He then began to slowly suck the tender flesh of her neck.

Scarlett stared once more at his bed, the sheets sprinkled with rose petals. Candles lit his bedroom in much the same way they illuminated the anteroom, but they were now all crowded around the bed, obscuring the remainder of the room in relative darkness. It was as if the bed were their safe haven, and the candles a ring of light and love that would protect them from all harm. Oh, how she wished it could remain that way forever...

He woke her once more from her thoughts by scooping her into his arms in one swift, smooth motion and carrying her over to the bed, onto which he gently deposited her. He stared down at her for a moment, his hand on her neck as he stroked it with his thumb. Then he leaned down and kissed her deeply, passionately, as they began to undress one another.

She first removed his hat and set it somewhere on the pillow behind her. He slipped the dress down her shoulders. She peeled his over coat away. He pulled her chemise over her head. And so it continued in this manner, until they were both quite nude. Then he crawled into bed with her, and they made love all through the night, atop the rich red rose petals.

* * *

Morning arrived too soon, and Scarlett was forced to gather the clothes she'd been wearing when she'd first arrived on the Black Pearl and any weapons that had been confiscated from her. When she had dressed and armed herself Barbossa took her down to the docks of Tortuga to see her off. The pair spoke briefly with Charles, who Barbossa noticed bore a slight resemblance to Victor, before the new Captain of the ship the Scarlett Fever made one last round of his new brigantine to be sure everything was in order. This allowed Scarlett and Barbossa a chance to say their final good byes. 

But when the time came to say something moving and memorable, both of them were speechless. They merely stared silently at one another, unaware of the fact that they had their fingers twined so tightly together that it would be difficult to break the bond. Finally, however, she spoke. "I did love you," she quietly told him. "I _do_ love you still, and I believe I always will. You will never mean nothing to me, and I certainly won't ever forget you. I won't bear a grudge, though, if you forget me." But her heart would break, this much was clear from her tone of voice and the way she cast her beautiful blue eyes at the ground.

He removed one hand from hers, though she desperately clung to it, and placed it instead on her chin, lifting her head so that she would be forced to meet his gaze. He then discovered that there were tears in her eyes, a sight which sparked a similar (though much less intense) reaction in him. He wished to say something that would comfort her completely, but once again she left him without words. Instead, he removed a ring from his finger and slipped it onto her thumb, for that was the only place it would fit. Then he said to her, giving a small, sad smile, "I'll think of ye every time I look down at that one empty finger."

It was hardly romantic and poetic, but it seemed to satisfy her. She gave a little laugh and stared at it a moment, passing one of her fingers over the simple smooth, dark jewel surrounded by sullied silver. Then she looked up at him, and she was still crying, but she didn't seem to care as she threw her arms about him and kissed him with as much force as she'd ever done. He responded similarly, squeezing her tightly about the waist and lifting her feet off the ground. And there they stood, osculating out in the open, and they didn't care who saw them.

But all good things must come to an end, which they had both understood from the beginning (if the beginning of their relationship could really be called "good"), and so finally they broke free from one another's embrace. However, he kissed her hand one last time before she turned away and headed toward the ship. Moments later she was on board and sailing away, and she disappeared from his sight, her slight form obscured by the brilliance of the rising sun.

He would not see her again for a very long time.

* * *

Just so you're all aware, that isn't a typo in the name of Charles' ship. It's a decently clever and probably pretty obvious play on words, lol. And another little note: This isn't the last chapter; there's still an epilogue to come. So look forward to that. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


	26. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own Scarlett and Hector. Not Hector Barbossa, mind you, though I desperately wish I did.

The Debt to be Repaid  
Epilogue

"Time's been kind to you."

Not as kind as it had been to her, that much was certain. She was still petite, but she'd filled out a little in the right places, namely the chest and hips. Though, in all honesty, it was difficult to discern the true size of any woman's hips when she wore a dress quite so large. But none of that mattered in the end. What mattered was that she was here and he was here and why they were both here.

He was here looking for the gold. She, with a baby in her arms, lived here. The little one was a spitting image of its mother, right down to the wisp of red hair on the top of its round head and the bright blue eyes that stared at everything with a twinkle inquisitive wonder. It was a beautiful child...

"Aren't you going to make some sort of witty remark?" she asked, in a deeper voice than he recalled. But eight years had passed, and of course things had changed. He blinked and looked at her again, as if he were seeing her once more for the first time, but knew that she was waiting for an answer. And then he realized that even after all the time they had spent apart she still left him speechless.

But of course things had changed. She had changed, and he had, too. So he replied, "I never figured ye one fer havin' children."

She smiled. "Yes, well, having a husband certainly helps." Her expression then grew sad, and the babe instantaneously detected its mother's distress. Its mouth turned down at the corners as it stared at the man who was causing said sadness, and that man stared back with his own blue eyes. "I wish, sometimes, that you could be my husband, and this your child," the mother went on. Then she looked up at him. "I've another one, you know. A girl, older than this one but still a child. She looks exactly like her father, right down to his nose. Oh, how I wish she had _your_ nose."

He tried to talk her out of it, shaking his head and saying, "No, me nose wouldn't look right on yer pretty little girl."

But she seemed to pay him no mind, merely continued to speak, as if to herself. "I regret not staying with you, I realize that now. Every day I wish I hadn't chosen Charles. Every day." She smiled sadly, tears in her eyes. "But never do I lament the birth of my babes. They are my most precious possessions. I only wish they had Barbossa blood coursing through their veins. Ah, but their blood is Black, as Black as their name." She let out a laughing little puff of air from her nose at her own play on words. "And I am Black, too, and will never be a Barbossa." She walked toward him then, balancing the baby on her hip like a true mother. Then she whispered, so that none of the crew standing about on deck could hear her, "So let us kiss one final time, and then I will never see you again."

And he obliged her, grabbing her face fiercely with his fingers as he thrust his tongue into her mouth, and she wept as she wrapped her own fingers around the collar of his over coat. But they quickly pulled away, determined to stop themselves before they went too far, which was indeed a wise choice.

She dried her eyes and sniffed, then hugged the baby to her bosom and said, "Come, Hector, let's go home." She smiled one last sad smile at the Captain, who blinked at the child's name, before she was rowed ashore. And when she was safely home with all the doors and windows of her family's house locked tight, the siege of Port Royale began.

* * *

Well, that's it, folks. Story's over. This installment of the tale of Scarlett and Barbossa is finished, but the recent release of the third film got me thinking again, and I may write a sequel, provided, of course, that I can actually motivate myself to do so, lol. It would also be nice to hear everyone's thoughts on the matter, so if you leave a review, tell me what you think of the idea of a sequel. Also, if I do write a sequel, there would be a couple little one-shots that would serve as kind of in between explanations of Scarlett's future actions. But I'll reveal no more than that. The blood is the life, Lady Sikerra. 


End file.
